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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137978">you’re arguing about liminal space, but i’m already on the other side</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals'>coffeeandchemicals</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, First Kiss, Getting Together, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 02, Sharing a Bed, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Stranger Things 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:20:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell me the truth, from one king to another, is — was — it easier to be king? Trying to live up to their expectations? Doing whatever you could to remain popular. Going along with whatever Tommy and Carol did to avoid their sharp tongues? Or did it get easier when you dropped them? When it was you and Wheeler, and you didn’t have to worry about putting that mask on in the morning?”</p><p>Steve swallows, stunned, a little scared. Billy has managed to get under his skin, again, and tear off the disguise he wears. “No,” Steve whispers, “it wasn’t easier, not really. I mean, sure, I could get away with things when I was popular, but,” he sighs, “it was exhausting, pretending all the time, to be something that I’m not.”</p><p>“Are you more tired now, though?” Billy asks, softly, “dealing with whatever it is you’re dealing with, on your own?”</p><p> </p><p>Or: Billy finds a dog. Steve finds Billy (and a dog). Deep philosophical conversations are had. And, eventually, there is only one bed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you’re arguing about liminal space, but i’m already on the other side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spicy_Cannoli_AKA_Lia/gifts">Spicy_Cannoli_AKA_Lia</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you for the detailed request! It really helped me come up with this (unreasonably) long story. I tried to make this lighthearted, like you asked for, but it had a lot more angst than I anticipated. BUT there is a happy ending… I really hope you like it or at least some parts of it!!</p><p>Please mind the tags! If I’ve missed something, please let me know.</p><p>I had a wonderful beta, who I’ll identify after the author reveal! Without her, this wouldn’t have gotten done (seriously, we did writing sprints together, that was the only way I got this many words written).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>i. a convergence of lost things </b>
</p><p> </p><p>The dog starts following him on Wednesday.</p><p>It stays a little way behind him, but every time Billy looks over his shoulder, he can see it. Sometimes it’s standing, ragged tail sticking straight out behind it, mouth open, tongue hanging out. Sometimes it’s sitting, tail wrapped around its front paws — Billy’s seen cats sit this way, but never dogs — mouth open, tongue still hanging out. It looks like the dog is smiling at him. </p><p>And Billy could use some smiles. </p><p>The only smiles he’s gotten lately are from the girls who look up at him through their eyelashes and like to drag their fingertips along his shoulders, like they want to own him, tame him, collar him so that everyone knows that <em>they</em> were the one to catch Billy Hargrove. Those smiles are traps. Those smiles make Billy’s stomach recoil. Those smiles make Billy want to wash out his insides. </p><p>Those smiles make Billy want to punch something. </p><p>Those smiles are what brought him to the junkyard in the first place. Here, it doesn’t matter if he destroys anything because everything here has already been thrown out, too broken to be repaired. Much like himself, Billy thinks, as he slams the tire iron into the side of a dented washing machine. So, it becomes a weekly, then semi-weekly, then almost daily ritual: drop Max off at the arcade, drive out here, smoke, listen to music, destroy shit. Work out that aggression. Work out that anger. Work out the revulsion that crawls along his skin. Get to a point where he can shrug everything off — his dad’s words (and other things), Max’s snide remarks, the stifling atmosphere of this small town, his almost unbearable loneliness, his utter despair at not being able to be who he is. Get to a point where he can fix himself up, pretend that he is something more than a lost thing in a sea of unremarkable lost things. </p><p>Billy saw the dog a few weeks ago — a grey mutt that reminded him a little of Tramp from that Disney movie Max used to love — another lost thing in this sea. It was skittish; looking at him through the heaps of rusted old cars, running off, nails scrabbling along the metal whenever Billy made eye contact. He had wondered if the dog belonged to anyone or, if it, too, had been abandoned by those who’d once loved it. Billy understands what it’s like to be alone, snapping at those who come too close, but still yearning for some small scraps of kindness. </p><p>Even though that kindness might be a precursor for something painfully cruel.</p><p>So, Billy starts bringing the dog scraps, leaving it leftover pot roast or Susan’s too dry porkchops or even the processed deli meat from his sandwich. He snags an old tupperware container from deep in one of the kitchen cupboards — one of those ones that no longer has a matching lid and hasn’t been used in years, but Neil’s too cheap to replace it — and fills it with water for the dog. Billy leaves these morsels and backs away. Sometimes he waits to see if the dog will accept his offering, sometimes he just leaves, unable to face the possibility of rejection. But Billy persists and the dog starts trusting him enough to cautiously come out of its hiding spot when Billy’s setting up the food. </p><p>Billy starts talking to the dog. It’s just casual conversation at first. He tells the dog about his day or about the book he’s reading or some crude joke Tommy made at lunch. It’s superficial; tidbits that he could just have easily thrown away on the girl he’s trying to string along. But, soon, the hollowness in him, the aching for something real, leads Billy to start telling this dog his secrets. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I miss California,” he’d said, sometime last week as the dog had stared at him, head on its paws. Its eyes were mournful, as if it could understand that what Billy meant by saying <em>I miss California</em> was actually <em>I miss not pretending, I miss having friends who I could just be myself around, I miss kissing and touching people who I actually want to kiss and touch.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Steve seems like a real good basketball player,” he’d said a few days ago as the dog wolfed down some shitty bologna that Billy had left him on a clean looking scrap of wood. It stopped and stared at him; if it was human, Billy would have sworn that it was arching one eyebrow at him as if to say <em>really, that’s what you want to say about Steve?</em></p><p>Billy had swallowed down the anxious energy that was bubbling up from his stomach. “You’re right,” he’d muttered, “Steve’s more than that. Man, you shoulda seen him at that Halloween party; he looked like he didn’t give a shit about all of this high school bullshit. I dunno who the fuck he was dressed as, but he just looked at me over those stupid sunglasses and it felt like he could <em>see</em> me, y’know, see into my soul or some shit. I dunno. Some part of me wanted him to… see me, the real me, the me that is still living in Cali. Fuck.”</p><p>But that still hadn’t covered it. Billy had known that, but he wasn’t quite ready to admit to a dog that seeing Steve, all cool and aloof, had made him want to see what Steve would look like all riled up.</p><p>And, Billy guesses, that’s why he’d tried to goad Steve in the shower. Billy hadn’t known why Tommy was bringing up Wheeler when her and Steve’s relationship had been over for almost a year — or that’s what Tommy had said when he was filling Billy in on all the things that Billy just <em>did not</em> care about — clearly, it was still an issue for Tommy. But Steve hadn’t reacted, or at least hadn’t reacted verbally; Billy had seen the muscles in Steve’s jaw clench and the fingers of Steve’s right hand spasm, as if he’d been trying not to make a fist, and Billy had known that Steve had been aching for a fight or something to release the energy that was obviously building up under Steve’s skin. So, Billy had gotten in there, said something stupid, called Steve <em>pretty</em>, leered at him, just to get some sort of reaction. </p><p>But it had backfired. </p><p>Billy had been taking Steve in, looking at all these parts that made Steve <em>Steve</em> and Billy had wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, just drag his fingertips down Steve’s bicep. And that urge had frozen Billy; he wanted to do to Steve what all those girls wanted to do to him. Billy had gotten out of there fairly quickly, trying to quell his guilt and shame. But he’d still been yearning to touch Steve Harrington and for Steve to touch him back. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Billy is sitting on the cold ground, leaning against the rusting carcass of an old school bus when the dog approaches him. It drops to the ground a few feet away from Billy, tail doing a slow wag, as if it’s happy to see Billy and just content to sit with him for a little while. Billy wants to reach out and pat the dog’s head or stroke its spine or scratch behind its ears, but he doesn’t, because, well, he doesn’t want to scare the dog. Then he’d be here, in this shithole of a town with no one to talk to, all alone.</p><p>“Hey, dog,” Billy says, “you’re getting awfully close now, maybe next time you’ll let me pet you?”</p><p>The dog just raises its doggy eyebrows at him and twitches its ears. </p><p>“I’m really curious about Steve,” Billy says, voice lower, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. And he is, not that he’s seen anyone at the junkyard, but… well, the shit he wants to say could get him beat up. Or worse. Billy tips his head back and sighs. </p><p>The dog lets out a woof of air in response. </p><p>“You’re right,” Billy mutters, “I should just start talking. I just want to know his secret, y’know. I wanna know how he’s able to not care. Tommy said he used to be king, used to run the school, and then something happened, maybe with him and that Wheeler chick he dated for all of two seconds, and now nothing seems to phase him. At all. It’s almost as if… as if he’s gone numb.” </p><p>Numb. Shut-off. Closed in. Deadened. Billy wishes he could feel that way, rather than feeling the anger that surges through him, coupled with fear and a slight hint of paranoia. Billy’s been on edge since he had moved to Hawkins, waiting for someone to find out, even though he hadn’t <em>done</em> anything. With the way Neil talked down to him, Billy’s sure that everyone — <em>Neil</em> — knows that he’s… gay. And if Billy could somehow figure out how to put up that shield, wrap himself in gauze, then maybe he’d be able to let himself relax. </p><p>“Steve,” Billy sighs out, “just seems so sure of himself, like he’s got it all figured out. I just want. I just really want to know how he does it. Then maybe I could do it, too. Then maybe Neil… I dunno, maybe he’d just leave me alone for a bit.”</p><p>The dog jerks its head up and let outs a little whine, almost as if it could sense someone coming in the fading the light.</p><p>“Yeah,” Billy says, getting to his feet, “I gotta go. Need to get Max.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and slowly walks towards his car, feet dragging, head heavy. Billy really doesn’t want to go home, there’s no telling what kind of mood Neil will be in. There’s a scrabbling noise from behind him, and Billy turns to see the dog running towards him. It stops a few feet away, keeping a safe buffer between Billy and itself, almost as if it still quite hasn’t made up its mind about Billy. </p><p>“You and everybody else,” Billy mutters, spinning on his heel to continue his trek back to the Camaro. He hears nails clicking on tiny stones as the dog starts to follow him. Billy stops again and looks over his shoulder; the dog is still a few feet away.</p><p>Billy turns back to the dog and crouches onto his haunches, until he’s about eye-level with the dog. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “you gotta stay here. If Neil finds you… I dunno what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be good. You gotta stay. Okay? I’ll be back later.”</p><p>He walks briskly to his car, telling himself that he wouldn’t look back. </p><p>He breaks that promise. </p><p>When Billy has almost driven to the gate, he glances into the rear-view mirror. The dog is sitting there, head hanging, tail still. Billy feels a sob wrench its way up from his stomach through his throat, coming out through his clenched teeth as gasping pants and an almost inaudible whine. He wants to grab the dog and take it somewhere where they don’t have to be so achingly lonely. </p><p>As he drives away, Billy promises himself that he’ll be back. </p><p>He hopes he won’t break this one. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>ii. a haunting sets in</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Steve Harrington is fine. And that’s what he would say, if anyone ever bothers to ask. He’s been wearing this preppy jock prom-king persona for so long that no one would even be able to tell if he wasn’t fine. Which he is. Fine, that is. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when Nancy tells him at the end of November their relationship just isn’t working for her.</p><p>“When I look at you, all I feel is guilt,” she says, sitting on Steve’s bed, staring into her clasped hands, as if she won’t be able to get the words out if she does see him. There’s irony in there somewhere. “I’m sorry, Steve, I know that’s not fair to you,” she says, getting up to look out his window, down onto the pool where Barb had died just a few weeks ago. </p><p>Steve opens his mouth to start to protest, to try to plead, wants to say <em>they’ll get past this, that they’re so good together, and can’t she just give him a chance, and</em>—</p><p>But he doesn’t. The words stick in his throat. Because here Nancy is, breaking up with him for something that isn’t his fault, but is something that Steve will never be able to fix. Because she isn’t just mad at him, she’s mad at herself. And Steve knows that every time she sees him all she thinks about is that night and all the things she should have done or shouldn’t have done. </p><p>And Steve definitely can’t fix that.</p><p>So, Steve just brings that well-worn façade back up, forces that hurt down, and says, “Sure, Nance, if that’s what you want.” </p><p>Because it doesn’t matter what he wants.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when the dreams start. He tries to ignore them, even though he wakes up gasping, still smelling the stench of burning monstrous flesh and seeing the flickering lights. He can’t look out his window anymore, the curtains always have to be drawn, otherwise he’ll start seeing things in the woods — and if he can see them, can they see him? </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when his parents come home for the holidays. He doesn’t have a panic attack when he comes down late one Saturday morning to see the Harrington family Christmas tree done up, multicoloured lights twinkling. His heartrate doesn’t spike, he doesn’t start to take rapid panting breaths, the world doesn’t darken around the edges, because they’re just lights, even if he swears that they’re blinking on as if to signal that one of those <em>things</em> is coming. </p><p>His mother changes out the multicoloured lights for clear ones, but Steve still avoids the family room for the rest of the holidays. He doesn’t relax until the tree is taken down in January. But Steve is fine. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when, at the end of January, Nancy starts dating Jonathan Byers, of all people. Steve, lucky man that he is, gets to see them exchange small smiles and covert glances in the hallways. He gets to see them share inside jokes at lunch, each ducking behind their own hands to laugh and look up shyly at each other through long lashes. He gets to see them fall in love. Steve doesn’t know when Nancy forgave Jonathan for taking those pictures, or if it’s just a ‘thing they don’t talk about’, but he doesn’t ask her, because, while he and Nancy are still friends, they’re not that <em>close</em> anymore. Barb’s death and flower-faced monsters and mysterious government agencies saw to that. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when he decides to start wandering around trees that border his backyard armed with his bat, a flashlight, and a bottle of whisky he stole from his dad’s liquor cabinet in February. He drinks. He twirls the bat. He jumps at every sound, wildly swinging the flashlight to illuminate spindly arms and an opening maw. But it’s never there. He usually ends up scaring small rodents and, on one memorable occasion, a very pissed-off owl. Every snapping branch and rustle of leaves will be Steve’s death. And, when death doesn’t come, Steve figures the odds are just narrowing, just closing in — because how long can he actually survive, if he’s out here, spotlight bright, calling all the fiends to him?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when February turns to March turns to July and the passage of time loses all meaning. He is sleepwalking in a constant fog; it’s punctuated by violent dreams, cold nights out in the woods, and this ever-growing sensation that something is watching him just beyond the periphery. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when school starts in September, ears ringing from the latest beratement from his dad.</p><p>“You need to get your grades up. No college is going to want some lazy, talentless schmuck. You’re a Harrington, Steve. Act like one,” his father barks out over the morning paper, eyes moving back and forth between Steve and the headlines, like even reprimanding his own son can’t completely hold his attention. </p><p>Steve flushes in anger and embarrassment; his grades had slipped over the previous semester and he’d needed to go to summer school to make sure he could graduate on time. He wants to go to college, to do something with his life, to be someone — but he doesn’t know who that is anymore. </p><p>He doesn’t even know who he is right now, at this very second. He used to be Steve Harrington: King of Hawkins High, star basketball player, he used to run the school, get any girl he wanted. Then he was Nancy’s boyfriend. Then he was a monster-slayer. Then he was… he doesn’t know who he’s been in the last few months, but no one has seemed to notice that Steve Harrington has disappeared. And Steve doesn’t know who’s replaced him. </p><p>But he’s fine. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine when Billy Hargrove shows up halfway through September and expels Steve from his throne. Steve had attempted to abdicate, but no one had gotten the message. It’s almost a relief when Billy shows up, sauntering through the halls like he’s always been there. Steve thinks he can maybe fade into the background, disappear completely. But Billy won’t allow that, because, apparently, Billy thrives when there’s competition. So, he keeps dragging Steve into the spotlight, destroying Steve’s plans to fade away into obscurity. </p><p>And, surprisingly, this actually helps ease Steve’s anxiety for a bit. He’s so distracted by Billy’s attitude and Billy’s constantly moving energy, that Billy slowly becomes Steve’s sole focus. And this lets Steve forget about monsters; Steve gets to turn back into a regular teenager who’s worried about winning a basketball game for a few minutes. But then Billy starts pushing into Steve’s space, making Steve worry about other things. Like why Billy wants to get so close to him — and what that means and if Steve wants him to be that close. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is fine, in the beginning of October, when he finally identifies that knot in his stomach that has been growing over the last few months as fear. Steve had signed the NDAs agreeing he wouldn’t talk about <em>anything</em> with anyone but that didn’t make it go away. He had thought that the feelings would leave him as time moved forward and placed more distance between him and all the things that had happened at the Byers’. But the feelings didn’t leave. And now Steve walks around with this knot in his stomach and a prickle on the back of his neck and a sense of paranoia that something bad is going to happen. Soon.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And now, at the end of October, Steve is still fine; he’s going out to tempt fate, but he’s fine. He is armed with his bat, a bottle of scotch, and a handy flashlight shoved into his coat pocket. That narrowing gap between him and death has shrunk to a fine line now. Any minute, any second, he’s going to meet his end, and he’s starting to wonder if he’ll meet it with a smile, greet it as a long-lost friend. He hears the crunch of footsteps, the whish of something brushing against tree trunks, the crackle of dry leaves. Steve can see the monster now. It’s almost here. His heart is pounding in his throat and the blood rushing through his ears is deafening. He should run, but his body has frozen to the spot. And… a grey dog comes bursting out of the trees in front of him; its tail between its legs, whites showing in its wildly rolling eyes. This dog is afraid. It rushes past Steve, whining, growling, and yipping. Steve spins on his heel to follow the dog, but he soon loses it in the dark. And Steve waits to see if whatever had frightened the dog will show up. </p><p>It doesn’t.</p><p>Steve goes home, goes to bed, and dreams about dogs. It’s a nice break from the monsters. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve reaches the point where he admits to himself that he is maybe, perhaps, not fine at Tina’s Halloween party. He shows up stag, because he isn’t dating anyone and hasn’t wanted to since Nancy, with a bottle of tequila and every intention of getting wasted. Instead, he sips the alcohol — he knows it would taste so much better with salt and lime — and watches people through his sunglasses. Steve wonders, as he leans against the wall, why there is so much pressure for everyone to conform. But this thought falls away as he watches Tommy walk towards him, shit-eating grin on his face. Steve’s getting really tired of Tommy. </p><p>“We got a new king, Harrington,” Tommy says, gesturing to Billy, who is climbing over couches and is, all of a sudden, standing in front of Steve. </p><p>Steve wonders if Tommy remembers that Billy had usurped that position over a month ago. Steve wants to say <em>so? It doesn’t matter</em>. Steve wants to punch the smirk off of Tommy’s face. Steve wants to grab Billy by the arm and ask him if he actually believes in all this bullshit, <em>because monsters are real, and they could die at any minute and Steve’s been courting death. And</em>—</p><p>But Steve doesn’t say any of this. He just looks at Billy over his sunglasses and takes Billy in, sees Billy’s gleaming chest, wet from beer, sees Billy’s slight sneer, meets Billy’s eyes. And Billy’s eyes, they’re searching Steve’s. And Steve doesn’t know what they’re going to find, and he doesn’t want to know. So, he pulls his shades back up and pushes himself off the wall, leaving Tommy and Billy standing in his wake. </p><p>Steve’s been telling himself he’s fine for so long that he doesn’t know what ‘fine’ is supposed to feel like. But whatever he’s feeling, it’s not fine. Because nothing is fine about what happened last year.</p><p>Steve feels someone’s eyes on him, he turns to see Billy staring at him, expression almost puzzled. Steve wonders if Billy has ever felt the same way. </p><p>Steve wonders if Billy is ‘fine’. </p><p>Steve wonders why he cares so much about Billy Hargrove. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is… numb when he goes to school; he’s in a daze. November in Hawkins should be awash in reds and oranges and yellows, deep blues, rich browns, velvet blacks. It isn’t. The colours seem to be leaching out at the edges of Steve’s vision making everything dull and muted, everything except Billy, for some reason. Maybe it’s because Steve can’t picture Billy as anything but bright colours, like the blinding sun reflecting off a turquoise ocean and golden sand. Steve wonders if Billy has somehow brought California with him, if he’s managed to weave it into his clothes, absorb it into his skin. </p><p>And Steve wonders if Billy has noticed him watching. Steve doesn’t mean to, but his eyes are naturally drawn to Billy. And he’s too tired, too anxious, too convinced something bad is on its way, to care enough to stop.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve sees the grey dog again on Wednesday. It’s standing at attention like it’s the last soldier between the enemy and the homeland. Steve wonders if the dog knows how accurate that is given the monsters that creep out of the lab. He has his flashlight in one hand and the bat in the other, which he’s twirling in an almost unconscious gesture. It’s soothing. </p><p>When the dog notices Steve, it wags its tail, like it’s happy to see him, to see a familiar face. A smile unconsciously spreads across his features. He crouches down a few feet away from the dog. “Hey, boy,” Steve whispers, gently setting down the light and the bat so he doesn’t appear as threatening. He stretches out one hand, palm up, towards the dog. “Are you going to be my backup?”</p><p>The dog wags its tail, as if to say <em>yes, I’ve got you.</em></p><p>Steve chuckles a little. “Well, if that’s the case, I gotta warn you. I think my time’s almost up.” He thinks of that narrowing gap, that sliver of probability that he’ll make it to Christmas alive, that fine line sketched into ever-shifting sand. He wonders if the sand is golden. “Any day now, really.”</p><p>The dog takes a few steps forward and stretches out to sniff at Steve’s fingers. Then it sits and opens it mouth in a doggy grin, tongue lolling. </p><p>“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” Steve mutters. He sits back on the cold ground, brings his knees into his chest, and wraps his arms around them. “You’d be better off leaving me alone, or better yet, get out of Hawkins.”</p><p>The dog cocks his head and twitches its ears, as if it is saying <em>enlighten me, then. I’ll be the judge of that.</em> </p><p>“I think the monsters are back,” Steve says, staring off into the forest, eyes unfocused. The sun has set, and it’s gotten dark enough that Steve has trouble differentiating the trees, they’ve turned into one dark formless mass, in which all manner of nightmares could crawl out of. “But I don’t know who to tell or who to ask. Nancy’s happy with Jonathan. And what could they do? And those kids, man, they don’t need to worry about this shit. They deserve some peace. I think Will is doing better, maybe? It’s not like I know any of them well enough to go talk to them. And how weird would that look? Me tryna get some kids to believe that monsters are back? I should go to Hopper. I really should. But I dunno if he’ll believe me. It’s not like I have any proof, just a gut feeling.” Steve sighs and drops his head into his arms. He wishes he had someone to talk to about this, someone who could tell him what to do or that everything would be okay.</p><p>He hears movement, the rustle of leaves, twigs snapping. Steve raises his head to see the tail-end of the dog as it takes off into the dark. His lips tremble as the thought that even a dog doesn’t want him races through his brain.</p><p>Steve is cold and he is alone and he is in the dark; he is not fine. </p><p>Steve hasn’t been fine for a very long time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>iii. stop me if you’ve heard this one, a dog walks into a bar</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Billy palms some of Susan’s extremely bland chicken when no one is looking. He quietly wraps it up in his napkin, hoping the crinkling won’t bring anyone’s attention to him, and shoves into the pocket of his jeans. Billy curses himself for wearing his jeans so tight; but he applauds Susan’s complete inability to keep any type of fowl moist — at least this bone-dry chicken won’t soak through. </p><p>That would make for a very awkward conversation. </p><p>Billy doesn’t dare look at Neil in case Neil, being more observant and less drunk than usual, can somehow see through the table and obtain proof his deception. So, Billy continues to eat, slowly, methodically, one bite after another, chewing until each bit of meat or overcooked vegetable is mush in his mouth. He swallows the food, sips some water, takes another bite. </p><p>And he waits; he bides his time until he can escape Neil’s overbearing presence, Susan’s defeated silence, and Max’s suppressed rage that turns her face into a splotchy red mask, broken by her furrowing brows and continually twitching of her downturned mouth. Yeah, that kid has no fucking poker face. </p><p>Billy thinks of the dog, the last image of it, from just a few hours earlier, imprinted on his brain – its head hanging, tail limp, body curled in on itself. He recognizes the posture; he’s seen it in the mirror often enough after Neil’s given him a dressing down, whether verbally or otherwise.</p><p>“Uh.” Billy clears his throat and starts again, eyes staring down at the remains of his unpalatable supper, “I gotta go… go meet a few of the guys to study. We have a big algebra test on Friday.”</p><p>No one says anything. Billy glances up at the head of the table to see Neil staring at Susan, chewing, chewing, chewing, swallowing. Neil takes a swallow of his beer and looks at Billy. </p><p>Billy licks his lips and continues with, “I’ll be back later, ‘kay?”</p><p>“Curfew’s at eleven, Billy. Don’t be late,” Neil says, after taking another sip and rolling the beer around in his mouth, as if he’d been trying to decide if there was any way he could keep Billy at home and let their miseries intermingle but had come up empty.</p><p>“Right, sure thing, Dad.” Billy tries not to let the relief colour his voice, not when he is so close to escaping, unscathed. </p><p>Neil glares at him. Susan stares at her plate, food barely untouched — Billy wonders when she’s going to start wasting away, worn down by Neil’s vitriol and her own lack of survival instincts. Max looks from Neil to Billy to Susan and lets out a little huff that Billy hopes Neil doesn’t hear; clearly, she inherited her survival instincts, or lack thereof, from her mother. The kid’s got to toughen up. But Billy doesn’t know how to help her; she’s no longer receptive to anything he has to say. He’d made sure of that before they’d left California and had regretted it almost instantly. </p><p>Maybe one day she’ll forgive him. But Billy is doubtful; he’s fairly certain too much damage has already happened. He holds Max’s gaze for just a second, wanting to convey <em>I’m sorry</em> and <em>I didn’t mean to</em> and <em>I was trying to protect you</em> solely with his eyes. But it won’t work. Max doesn’t know what she almost did, and Billy will never tell her.</p><p>So, Max will go on hating him. And Billy will deserve it. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sun has just dipped below the horizon when Billy pulls up to the edge of the junkyard, turning the sky into various shades of blues and pinks, but darkness is fast approaching. Billy crosses the liminal space between his car and the fence, feeling the shift from the real world where he has to be Billy Hargrove: King of Hawkins High, suave ladies’ man, someone who can let all the bad shit roll off of him, to Billy: sheep in wolf’s clothing, angry little boy pretending to be a man, tragic hero of his own tragic tale. And with the shifting shadows cast by the once shiny metallic beasts now left in ruins, Billy supposes he could be in a fairy-tale — one of the ones where he dies to convey some moral lesson to unsuspecting children.</p><p>His boots crunch on the gravel and dried grass as he walks between the scrap heaps. Billy’s trying to be quiet, ears straining to pick up a canine whine or nails clicking on hard surfaces or the soft woosh of a tail wagging. But it’s eerily silent.</p><p>“Dog,” Billy whispers, stopping somewhere in the middle of the junkyard, hoping that the dog is in one of its friendlier moods, and doesn’t remember Billy abandoning it earlier. Billy pauses, holding his breath to see if the dog will show up. </p><p>And he hears the rustling of the dry grass as it straightens out from his footsteps. He hears the groaning of the metal as it releases its absorbed heat into the cooling night air. He hears the creak of the trees as they’re shifted by the wind that’s starting to pick up. But it’s still eerily quiet. Billy expects to hear the noise of cars on roads, the sounds of a city going to sleep (or just waking up), the rush of waves pounding on the shore, anything other than this dreamy stillness that has draped itself over Hawkins (or at least around Billy). </p><p>“Dog,” Billy says again, his voice a little louder this time, but still pitched low for some reason, like he’s afraid of drawing demons to him. </p><p>The trees creak, the metal groans, the grass rustles, and the dog still doesn’t show up. A knot grows in Billy’s stomach, fear coiled with anxiety, twisted with a sense of dread that something might have happened to the dog between then and now. And Billy doesn’t know what he’ll do if the dog doesn’t appear, doesn’t come racing through that stacked pile of cars on the left, doesn’t come cautiously trotting by that old refrigerator on the right, doesn’t come bounding through the pile of bikes with rotted tires directly ahead. </p><p>Billy squats down on his haunches, elbows on his knees, feeling the stretch down his calves, focusing on this physical sensation as opposed to the gnawing in his gut, the yawning fear threatening to overtake his thoughts. He tips back onto his ass and wraps his arms around his knees. He’s not exactly cold yet, but like the metal, he’s releasing his heat into the night air. He shivers. He sits. He waits. </p><p>And then, from somewhere behind him, Billy hears a noise, something that doesn’t fade into the background symphony of a forest at night. He hears scratches, a whine, and a small exhalation of air. Billy hopes it’s the dog and not some predator ready to pounce on some unwitting human, sitting alone and defenseless, just waiting to be eaten. Then the sounds resolve themselves into something decidedly canine. The dog woofs and comes out of the woods, coming to a halt on Billy’s left. </p><p>“Hey, dog,” Billy says, grinning, relief flooding through him. “I’m glad to see you.” </p><p>The dog takes a few steps forward. Billy could reach out and touch it if he wanted to. Instead, Billy reaches into his pocket (cursing his tight jeans) and pulls out the napkin-wrapped chicken. He can just make out the dog’s nostrils flaring as it scents the food. </p><p>“I brought you this.” Billy unwraps it and places it down on the ground. He shuffles back a foot to give the dog some space. </p><p>The dog trots over and noses at the meat. </p><p>“I gotta warn ya,” Billy mutters, “Susan’s cooking leaves something to be desired. But, well, meat is meat, right? And it’s gotta be better than that deli shit I gave you earlier?”</p><p>The dog takes another cautious sniff and the gulps the chicken down in one large bite. It wags its tail and plops down next to Billy. There are a few inches separating them, but Billy can still feel the heat radiating off the dog as it pants next to him. It’s dark enough that Billy can’t make out the dog’s face clearly, but he’s picturing a version of the doggy grin he’d seen a few times before. </p><p>“Would you be okay,” Billy asks, reaching out his palm to the general direction of the dog’s head, “if I scratched behind your ears?” He can feel the dog’s breath on his hand as it sniffs it. When the dog stops, Billy cautiously touches the top of the dog’s head. It doesn’t jerk away, so Billy gives it a pat and then moves his hand down to the soft fur of the dog’s ear. The fur feels like it’s got dried mud on it, as if the dog went sprinting through the forest, took a quick dip in a pond, and then rolled around on the ground. Billy scratches the fur and the dog leans in to his hand. Billy’s heart melts.</p><p>“You’re a good dog,” he says, still scratching. </p><p>The dog pants and wags its tail, hitting Billy’s leg every few seconds. </p><p>“I hope someone’s told you that before,” Billy mutters. </p><p>The dog lets out a sad little woof as if to say <em>yes, but not for a long time.</em></p><p>Billy scratches the dog under the chin and brings his other hand to rub the dog between the eyes — he thinks he remembers someone telling him that was a soothing gesture. “You deserve all the pets.”</p><p>The dog licks its lips and swallows. Billy interprets this as <em>yes, I do, so keep petting me</em> and he’s more than happy to comply. </p><p>“I always wanted a dog, especially after mom left,” Billy says, “but Neil wouldn’t hear any of it. He said it was too much responsibility, that I wouldn’t be able to take care of it. But that’s not true. We would’ve best friends. ‘cause that’s what a dog is, right? Best friend for life.”</p><p>The dog lays its head on its paws as Billy continues to scratch behind its ears. </p><p>“Can’t do nothing about it now, though,” he mutters, bitterly, wondering if a dog would have made the years between his mother abandoning him and now more bearable. Probably. But Neil would’ve realized that the dog could have been used against Billy. “Well, guess it’s better we didn’t find out,” he adds. </p><p>Billy sees the stars starting to appear in the darkening sky, twinkling on the horizon. The dog rolls over so its back is pressed to Billy’s leg and he switches his scratching to under the dog’s chin.</p><p>“Neil’s not a nice guy. He got even meaner after my mom left. Became stricter. Everything was black and white, his way or not at all. I would never be able to convince him to let me keep you. But…”</p><p>The dog woofs and raises its front paw at him, as if to say <em>it’s okay, I understand.</em></p><p>“But you deserve a nice home, a family that’ll take care of you. Maybe I could ask Max… see if one of her weird little friends could take you.”</p><p>The dog whines. <em>But you’d still visit me, right?</em></p><p>“Of course, I’d still visit you,” Billy mutters, knowing that if anyone was listening, he’d sound crazy. “You’d still be my dog,” he adds, “we’d leave once I’m done school. Go back to Cali. You’d like it there, lots of new smells, lots of things to see, dogs to meet.”</p><p>The dog’s breathing evens out, slow and deep. Billy wonders if it’s falling asleep. </p><p>“I doubt Max would help me though. She still hasn’t forgiven me for what happened. Not that she has any reason to. As far as she knows, her big brother just flipped out at her and hasn’t made any kind of amends.” More stars blink into existence, further shrouding the junkyard in a sleepy darkness that could hide all manner of beasts. Even Billy. </p><p>“I just freaked out, y’know? Neil had come home and said we were moving to some fucking tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know where Indiana was before we got here…” Billy sighs, trying to force the cramped feeling in his chest to loosen. But iron bands have wrapped themselves around him, stopping him from taking deep breaths. </p><p>“And all I could think was, I can’t leave him. We’d just started,” Billy lowers his voice and says, “kissing. And it was this new, precious thing that I’d never felt before. Never had before, y’know? And given what I am, I was — am — afraid that I’ll never find that again. And I keep thinking, if I could just get back to Cali, if I could just see him again, things would be okay.” </p><p>Billy licks his lips and swallows, heart racing, knowing that he shouldn’t even be saying this out loud. Because, in the middle of nowhere, in small towns with conservative attitudes that most likely had more shotguns than people, seeing this, being <em>this</em>, could — would — get him killed. But the words have started and Billy is powerless to halt their flow.</p><p>“I’d told him we were leaving. He asked if he could call me. I’d said no. Because there’s no way Neil wouldn’t have seen it on the bill, all those long-distance charges. And what if Neil just picked up the phone and listened in. I couldn’t take that chance. I couldn’t even risk letters, like what if Neil got the mail that day and saw his name? And then opened the letter. And then Neil would know — he’d know the one thing he’d end me for. Sure, Neil calls me a fag, but he doesn’t have proof that I am one. And I need to keep it that way.”</p><p>The dog lets out a snuffling snore and kicks its hind legs. </p><p>Billy grins, not his usual full-watt one, something softer, more genuine. “Here I am, telling you my deepest darkest secrets, and you’ve fallen asleep, like it means nothing to you.” He scratches the dog’s head and enjoys the feeling of its fur under his fingertips as the callouses from weightlifting catch at the individual strands.</p><p>They sit in silence for a bit, Billy listening to the dog’s breathing, punctuated by little snorts and whines that Billy takes to mean that the dog is dreaming — he hopes they’re good dreams. “I should probably just let you sleep,” he mutters, “I don’t even know what time it is. Gotta be home by eleven, or there’ll be hell to pay.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t’ve yelled at her,” Billy whispers, “and I definitely shouldn’t’ve grabbed her.” He feels sick shame and guilt rise up along the back of his throat and wonders if he’s about to throw up. Billy doesn’t often let himself think of this, the time when he’d turned into Neil, after so many years of fighting against that instinct. “She’d have seen him. Max just, y’know, came into my room without knocking. And there we were, making out like our lives depended on it. The only thing that saved me was that stupid comic. If she hadn’t been readin’ it, she’d have seen him. It gave me the time to stop her. I can’t even remember what I said. All I know was I was just yelling at her, pushing her back through that door, anything to make sure she didn’t see him. And I… I grabbed her shoulders and forced her back. I saw the bruises I left.” Billy tries to swallow the bile that has flooded his mouth. “Sure, Max didn’t see anything, and the only cost was me fucking ruining our relationship. It was too steep. I shouldn’t’ve done it. And now I gotta live with it.”</p><p>Billy can barely see anything now, the sun has set completely, darkness covering a plethora of sins, making it easier for all types of confessions. But he doesn’t feel any better. This shame and guilt that he’d locked up in himself still pulls him down. Billy wishes he could talk to Max, explain it all, ask for some sort of forgiveness. But she doesn’t believe anything he says anymore. She called him a liar and a bully and told him she wished he’d left with his mother — and, god, Billy wishes that too, but how can he tell his thirteen-year-old stepsister that his mother didn’t want him, that she’d left without saying goodbye, that she’d disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving Billy alone with an abusive asshole. </p><p>The dog shifts next to him, Billy can just barely make out the shape of the dog’s head as it lifts it up. He wonders what the dog can hear or smell in the woods that border the junkyard. It rolls onto its feet and stretches. The dog lets out a little whine and then takes off back the way it had come earlier. </p><p>“I should probably go too,” Billy says, getting to his feet, also stretching and cracking his back from sitting for so long without anything to lean against. Then he adds, in a slightly louder voice, “See you tomorrow, dog.”</p><p>It’s still quiet. Billy can’t tell if the eeriness has intensified or diminished with the onset of full dark. He walks slowly towards the direction of his car – or at least he hopes that’s the case, he can barely see anything. But, he only steps into three holes and curses his lack of light four times before he gets back to the Camaro. </p><p>Billy may have heard someone following him, causing him to look back over his shoulder a few times as he tried to make out any moving shapes in the darkness. He can’t see anything move, because he can’t see anything at all. </p><p>He tries to convince himself it’s just his imagination coupled with the dark and silence. But his racing heart and the fear in his stomach tell him he was unsuccessful in this endeavor.</p><p>There’s something out there, in the night. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>iv. when the crows descend, seek shelter elsewhere</b>
</p><p> </p><p>When Steve realizes his ass has gone numb, he gets up off the ground. Okay, so he isn’t fine, no big deal. He’s sure there are lots of people who aren’t ‘fine’. But they get better, right? They learn to deal with it or move on or something like that? And he will too, it’ll just take time. And he’s young, he’s got time. </p><p>All the time in the world. </p><p>Except, Steve thinks, as he picks up his bat, his time has been dwindling, because he’s out here, tempting fate. </p><p>So, okay, maybe not all the time in the world, but maybe time enough to learn how to be fine again. </p><p>He rests the bat across his shoulders, minding the sharp ends of the nails, and picks up the flashlight; he wishes he’d brought a bottle of something with him, at least the alcohol would’ve helped keep the chill at bay. But his parents are home, getting the house in order for the annual Harrington family reunion, and trying to steal one of his dad’s bottles of scotch or whisky or bourbon would probably have ended in Steve’s keys being taken away. </p><p>Or nothing. </p><p>And, here in the dark, Steve can admit, that no punishment at all, except his dad’s disapproval, only evident in the pinched line of his mouth, would probably be worse. Well, the disapproval, and the more than likely outcome that Steve’s dad would get drunk enough to make his displeasure with his son known to his four brothers. Steve’s dad is the youngest and, whenever the Harrington brothers get together, he always acts like he’s got something to prove. Steve occasionally wonders if that’s why he’s an only child. </p><p>With his mind made up on the matter of <em>not</em> tempting fate any longer, Steve spins on his heel to head back to his house, the walk will undoubtedly take twice as long in the dark, even if he isn’t drunk. But something makes him stop and listen, not daring to breathe. He is almost certain that Demogorgons can’t talk — do they even have vocal cords? — so the voice he can barely hear must belong to someone else. </p><p>Steve’s curiosity outweighs his newfound pledge to become ‘fine’. Besides, maybe whoever’s talking needs help? Steve takes a few cautious steps forward, noting that he’s going in the same direction the dog took off in. Does he want to be loud and alert the person that there’s someone else out here, in the dark, in the quiet? He ponders this as he takes a few more deliberately noiseless steps (or at least as noiseless as he can make them given that he’s walking on dry underbrush). What if the person is a dangerous serial killer or on a secret rendezvous? Or, he stops short, almost stepping on a birch branch that glows ghostly white in the fading light, what if the person works for <em>the lab</em>? Steve swallows, trying to force down the fear, brain already running a mile a minute: a scientist is out here, investigating something, the monsters are back, they’re coming. He takes a few more steps and drops the bat down to his side. Steve debates setting the flashlight on the ground, gripping the bat with two hands, and taking a few practice swings, so he’s ready for whatever is out there in the dark. </p><p>But then he hears the voice again and it sounds like Billy Hargrove. What is Billy doing out here and who is he talking to? Curiosity propelling his feet, Steve moves forward, just catching what Billy is saying: “I doubt Max would help me though.” Then the wind picks up and the next words are lost. When it dies down again, Steve hears, “As far as she knows, her big brother just flipped out at her and hasn’t made any kind of amends.”</p><p>Steve considers leaving, this is clearly a private conversation, even if Steve is dying to find out who Billy is talking to. He waits, barely breathing, listening for the other person’s response. It doesn’t come. Instead, Billy says “I just freaked out, y’know? Neil had come home and said we were moving to some fucking tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know where Indiana was before we got here…”</p><p>Steve almost snorts at this, but he brings a hand up to his mouth before the noise can escape. He really should leave now, but then Billy says, “And all I could think was, I can’t leave him. We’d just started kissing.”</p><p>Wait. Kissing. Is that what Billy said? He’d lowered his voice, so Steve had to strain to hear it, but Steve’s almost certain that Billy said kissing. Billy had been kissing a guy. </p><p>Does Billy <em>like</em> kissing guys? </p><p>Steve swallows again, trying to picture Billy kissing a boy — masculine hands with blunt nails twining in Billy’s hair pulling Billy’s face towards his. Billy with his usual cocky smirk that softens right before their lips touch. Billy bringing his own thick-fingered hands with their abundance of silver rings, up to the guy’s neck to pull him in and slide them up through the guy’s brown hair. </p><p>And. </p><p>Yep. </p><p>Does Steve want to admit to himself that he was the guy Billy was kissing in this brief imagining?</p><p>No. Not really. </p><p>And yet, Steve can’t stop the flood of images — half-lidded eyes, hands on waists, nails scraping down muscled thighs, tongues licking over abs — Steve jerks backward, as if he can physically remove himself from this onslaught. Is this why he’s been so fixated on Billy? </p><p>Does he want Billy Hargrove like that? </p><p>Steve should be more freaked out by this thought, that he’s pining for a <em>guy</em>. But he’s faced monsters before, which puts things into perspective. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to act on these newly recognized feelings, right? He’s shoved things down before and he can do it again. </p><p>Steve nods, as if to emphatically agree with himself. He can do this. With that settled (with himself), Steve decides that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to listen a little more — because he is, apparently, a bit of a masochist and wants to learn more things about the person he can never have; to have a fully-realized Billy Hargrove living in his head, taunting him. </p><p>When he gets closer, regaining the ground he’d lost when fighting with his brain, Steve hears Billy talking about Max, about how Max had almost discovered Billy and the guy he was with, and about how Billy had hurt Max when he was trying to stop her from seeing them. Steve can hear the regret in Billy’s voice. Steve doesn’t know much about Billy’s homelife, he’s seen Billy dropping off a red-headed girl at Hawkins Middle, so Steve assumes that’s Max. </p><p>Steve creeps nearer, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see Billy, see what he looks like when he’s being this vulnerable. Although, Steve is very aware that Billy catching sight of him could possibly lead to his untimely demise, which Steve would like to avoid, at least until he can examine his feelings for Billy further. Steve moves closer, trying to avoid anything that will make noise, alerting Billy to his presence, but the dimness makes it nearly impossible. With the next few steps, a clearing opens up and Steve can discern a figure sitting on the ground. The figure shifts on the ground and Steve hears Billy say, “Sure, Max didn’t see anything, and the only cost was me fucking ruining our relationship. It was too steep. I shouldn’t’ve done it. And now I gotta live with it.” Billy’s voice is low and rough; it drags along Steve’s skin and Steve can almost imagine what Billy would sound like in bed. He swallows, mouth dry with that thought, shame pricking in his mind that he’s thinking about Billy in <em>that</em> way when Billy’s clearly hurting.</p><p>Then Steve steps on a twig, it makes a barely audible snap. But it’s loud enough that the figure shifts. And separates into two figures. Steve has enough light to see that there was something — the dog — leaning next to Billy — so that’s why the dog took off — and it’s coming towards Steve.</p><p>Steve starts violently waving his hands, as if gesturing for the dog to stay will do anything. He doesn’t even know if the dog will take verbal commands, let alone emphatic gestures. </p><p>It doesn’t; it just keeps walking.</p><p>Then Billy gets up and Steve hears him say something about getting going but that he’ll be back tomorrow. </p><p>The dog stops in front of Steve and wags its tail, well, that’s what Steve assumes the noise is – he could turn his flashlight on and confirm. But then Billy would know Steve was here and that would be bad. So, Steve just sticks out his hand for the dog to sniff at and hopes that now is not the time that the dog decides to start barking. </p><p>The dog just licks his hand.</p><p>Steve puts a finger to his lips, really diving into this whole ‘the dog can totally understand human gestures’ thing and jerks his head in the direction that he sees Billy heading. He assumes that Billy is going towards his car, or at least that’s what Steve hopes, because it’s getting too late and too dark for Billy to be out here alone, even without the threat of interdimensional monsters that hangs over Hawkins. Steve quietly, or as quiet as he can be, walks in the same direction as Billy, trying to keep him in his sightlines, grimacing every time Billy stumbles, and holding in his laughter every time Billy lets out a litany of curses. </p><p>Steve’s path veers slightly and he ends up much closer to Billy than when he started. And, given the way Billy keeps stopping to look over his shoulder, Steve wonders if Billy can sense him. He lets out a breath in relief when Billy gets into his car. But that relief changes into fear when Billy starts the engine and the headlights flick on. Steve jumps back, hoping the sound of the engine will muffle his own litany of curses and the cracking of branches as he falls into a tree, to avoid being lit up by those spotlights. </p><p>Steve thinks he’s successful, but he’s not sure because he’s lost his night-vision in the sudden onslaught of light. He blinks a few times, trying to clear his eyes of the afterimages and, by the time he’s able to see again, the car has backed up, spun around, and peeled out of the parking area.</p><p>“Well,” Steve says, “that was interesting.” He glances down towards the dog for confirmation, but the dog is gone. Steve sighs, turns on his flashlight, and slowly heads back to his house, thoughts of Billy rolling around in his head. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Steve is dreading tonight. He woke up with a knot in his stomach and he knows the exact cause. Tonight, the Harrington clan will descend on his house, his dad’s obnoxious brothers and their status-loving wives and their bratty children, all there to make Steve feel inferior. And Steve will have to suffer through it, jaws clenched tight around the words that will threaten to spill out. </p><p>School drags, which normally, Steve would hate, but dreading the events of tonight, tomorrow, and the entire weekend, he appreciates this slow passage of time. It also gives him a chance to ponder what he’d overheard, while sneaking glances at Billy, as he tries to reconcile the two different personas into one whole person. </p><p>It doesn’t work very well. Steve cannot fathom how this brash, loud-mouthed jerk is the same person as the one who’d confessed to wanting to repair his relationship with his stepsister the night before. Steve had casually asked around about Billy and learned that Billy and Max were stepsiblings — that Max’s mom had married Billy’s dad. Steve had also learned that the general consensus of Billy’s dad was that he was gruff, angry, and maybe a little cruel. And, well, thinking on this later, Steve understands why Billy wouldn’t want his dad to find out about him and the guy he’d been seeing.</p><p>If it had been Steve, he would have done pretty much anything to stop his own dad from finding out that his son kisses guys. Not that Steve would have that issue. Even if he does want to kiss Billy — it’s just something he’s going to have to deal with and ignore. It’s not like he doesn’t find girls attractive anymore, it’s just that Billy is now showing up in his fantasies too. Not that he’s had many between last night and now, but, he’s a teenage boy, hormones and libidos run rampant. And Billy has that mouth and that hair and. Yeah. The lusting is real.</p><p>Steve pulls into his driveway, which is, thankfully, clear of any extraneous cars — no surprise Harringtons are awaiting him inside to ask about his college plans and say <em>aren’t you lucky that your dad has a place for you at his company?</em> None of them will ask about what he actually wants to do with his life, it’s just assumed and accepted that Steve Harrington will be a carbon copy of his dad. And, as far as his dad is concerned, a second-rate carbon copy, as Steve is already failing to live up to his dad’s expectations.</p><p>Considering for a moment, Steve reverses out of the driveway and parks down the street. Just in case, he tells himself, he gets a chance to escape. And, by escape, Steve mostly means a chance to find Billy and perhaps to actually talk to the guy. Maybe he’s better one-on-one, when he doesn’t have his crowd of loyal followers to impress. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, good, you’re home,” Steve’s mother says when he walks through the door. “I need you to run and get me a few things from the store, your father forgot them when he went out earlier.”</p><p>Steve sighs, drops his bag, and holds out his hand for the list his mother is holding. Patricia Harrington (nee Kennedy, <em>but not those Kennedys</em> she’ll say when she’s on her fourth glass of wine then she usually leans over and whispers conspiratorially <em>well, maybe those Kennedys, but the black sheep of the family</em>. She’ll giggle, sip more wine, and bask in the awed glances of the women who surround her — with a few words and pointed looks, she’s able to elevate herself to American royalty. Steve has seen this happen a dozen of times over the course of his life. It’s not true of course.) is nothing if not organized, some could say to a fault, Steve’s dad, John, has said so on at least three occasions, but only when he’s three fingers of scotch into the evening and only when he’s surrounded by the same kind of boisterous men as himself, those who belittle their wives, but at the same time trying to show how their wife is better than everyone else’s. </p><p>Steve doesn’t want to be like either of his parents, so concerned with money and status that they can’t see their only son is disappearing in front of them. He doesn’t know how to change them. They’re so cemented in their ways that they’re practically fossilized, along with everyone else in the family.</p><p>“Sure thing, mom,” Steve says, spinning on his heel and going back through the door. He knows that when he comes back, the Harringtons will have arrived, their cloying attitudes and painted-on façades used as weapons against each other.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Steven,” yells his uncle Robert, John’s eldest brother, a loud man with an even louder wife, as Steve walks through the door an hour later. He’s got two bags under his arms and two more in the trunk of his car. But Robert is standing in front of him, grinning, whisky in one hand, cigar in the other, blocking Steve’s path to the kitchen.</p><p>Steve swallows down the frustration building in his throat and plasters an easy grin on his face. “Hi, Uncle Robert,” Steve says, slowly angling himself to brush past the man, “how’s things?”</p><p>“Oh, good, good,” replies Robert, grinning jovially, but Steve can see that the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re shrewdly analyzing Steve, jumping from Steve’s face to the bags in Steve’s arms to Steve’s shoes and back up to Steve’s face. “You’re not looking too hot there, sonny boy,” Robert adds, taking a sip of his whisky. </p><p>Steve wants to knock the whisky out of his hand or grab it and swallow it all in one gulp. He doesn’t, instead, he says, “It’s just that time of year, you know.”</p><p>“Sure,” Robert says, “although, Thomas is the same age as you and has already started interning for me and he doesn’t look near as bad as you.”</p><p>Steve sighs and wonders if he can escape before Robert continues his ode to his only son. “Well, he musta got those good genes from his mother,” Steve quips, knowing there’ll be hell to pay later for that comment, “now I really gotta get these groceries to mom, she’s expecting them.”</p><p>Robert looks dumbfounded, but Steve is already halfway down the hallway, leaving him gaping in his wake.</p><p>Steve’s mother is laying out trays of appetizers in the kitchen, chatting with the other wives and occasionally taking a swallow of wine from her wine glass. Steve can see the tenseness in her shoulders as Carolyn, Charles’ (the middle brother) wife chatters about her own children. Steve drops the bags off on the counter and peels off before he can be stopped by his various aunts. Thankfully, Robert is no longer standing in the foyer and Steve is able to leave again without being accosted to get the remaining groceries. Slamming the trunk closed, Steve wonders how his dad forgot all of these things. He wonders if maybe his mother just didn’t ask him to get them, not wanting to deal with his dad’s temper and exasperation. </p><p>The aunts and his mom are no longer in the kitchen when Steve returns with the remaining groceries. He carefully puts them away, trying to make as little noise as possible so he doesn’t alert anyone to his presence. He’s hoping that his dad and his uncles are off somewhere talking about money or sports and drinking and smoking, or doing whatever it is wealthy, status-obsessed men do when they’re trying to one-up each other. Steve can hear the sound of feminine voices coming from the living room and pokes his head in.</p><p>“Mom,” he says, trying to catch her attention without drawing the ire of his aunts, “I just remembered I have a test tomorrow.” Lie, total lie. “And I was gonna go over to Tommy’s to study.” Another lie, if either of his parents had been paying attention to Steve over the last few months, they’d know he hadn’t hung out with Tommy since June, when Tommy had decided he’d wanted to try and mend fences. It had ended disastrously — with black eyes, bruised fists, and words that neither one could ever take back. “I’ll be back later, okay?”</p><p>“Oh,” Patricia — never Patsy or Trish or Patty — says, her eyes already glassy from the wine, “sure, honey, don’t be out too late.”</p><p>Steve smiles ruefully but quickly covers it with his hand. He doubts his mom would notice what time he gets home given the amount of alcohol she’s already consumed. “No, not too late,” he agrees, as he steps back into the kitchen and then heads down the hallway. His stomach is already unclenching over the relief of avoiding his extended family for the evening.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sun is setting. It always seems to be setting whenever Steve leaves the house. It’s probably because he’s always trying to escape his house after dinner when his parents are home, to leave the paradoxically stifling and frigid atmosphere. If his parents are away on one of his dad’s business trips, Steve leaves around this time anyways, trying to fight the claustrophobic feeling that has settled under his skin, which grows as he paces from room to room and stares out of every window. Finally, he reaches the point where the solid walls of his house can no longer contain him, and he leaves. </p><p>Like tonight, except he’s battling the four walls, the judgments of his relatives, and the strong desire to see if Billy will show up at the junkyard again. Steve decides to drive to the junkyard and park (a little ways from the entrance and in an area that his car won’t be seen by Billy) as opposed to risking his life, diminishing that gap between him and death, advertising his location to monsters (in monstrous form or in the guise of men) in the woods, in the dark.</p><p>Steve knows, okay, he knows what he’s doing is <em>not right</em>. He shouldn’t be spying on or stalking Billy. It’s a betrayal of Billy’s trust (not that Billy trusts him, but still). And Steve spends the whole drive to the junkyard (not that it’s that long, given the size of Hawkins), debating with himself. Should he make his presence known? Should he not? Steve placates himself slightly, by telling himself that he’s not going to do anything with the information he finds out. But that doesn’t make his actions any better. Steve knows this and the twisted feeling in his gut confirms that he knows what he’s doing is wrong. </p><p>He’s going to tell Billy. </p><p>But, despite deciding that, Steve gets out of his car with his flashlight and bat — you can never be too careful — and treads softly into the twilight. He doesn’t turn on his flashlight. He doesn’t use the main entrance to the junkyard, he hops the fence and ducks into the cover of the trees. He can’t hear anything that would indicate that Billy has arrived. So, Steve leans against a tree, rests his bat against his thigh, shoves his hands into his pockets, and listens. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there when he hears the music. At first, it’s quiet, emanating from somewhere off in the distance, but it grows louder and louder. Then Steve hears the roar of an engine, and, unconsciously, a grin appears on his face — there is no doubt in his mind that Billy has arrived. He hears a car door slam and boots crunching on gravel. Then Billy appears in the clearing, cigarette hanging out of one side of his mouth, case of beer tucked under one arm, and a small paper bag clasped in one hand.</p><p>Billy’s voice carries when he calls for the dog. Steve’s stomach clenches slightly when he hears how hopeful Billy sounds, so unlike his usual drawl that Steve is now sure Billy uses to intentionally get under people’s skins. Or, at least, it’s gotten under Steve’s skin.</p><p>Steve sees the dog run up to Billy and Billy drops down into a squat, setting the bag and beer down in the process. The dog sniffs at the bag, whines, sits, and wags it tail, as if it’s waiting for something. </p><p>Billy laughs and stubs out his cigarette. “You’re impatient, aren’t you? Fine, here you go.” He opens the bag and drops something on the ground, which the dog immediately devours. Billy pets the dog’s head when it’s done eating. </p><p>Steve watches as Billy lets himself fall back onto his ass and grab a can. He cracks it open and takes a long drink. The dog lies down in front of him, head on its paws, tail slowly moving back and forth, with, what Steve assumes is, contentment. </p><p>“No curfew tonight,” Billy says, leaning forward to scratch the dog under its chin. “Neil and Susan are out. I’m supposed to be watching Max, but the kid’s old enough to watch herself. Not that she’d listen to me anyways.”</p><p>Steve thinks it’s odd that Billy calls his dad by his first name. Maybe their relationship is that fucked up that Billy doesn’t want to even acknowledge what Neil is to him, as if referring to Neil as his dad will make everything worse. </p><p>Billy sets his beer down and leans back, hands splayed out behind him. He tilts his head back and stares at the sky. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be home early, wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to her.”</p><p>The dog woofs, as if it agrees with Billy’s logic, which makes Steve grin. He likes that he and Billy interact with dog in the same manner — talking to it as if it is able to answer. </p><p>“It’s not too bad here,” Billy continues, still looking up at the sky. He fumbles around with his right hand to find the beer he’d set down and takes another sip. “Could almost get used to the quiet, it’s pretty peaceful. Not peaceful like the beach during the sunrise, mind you, but still relaxing. If only I didn’t have to deal with Neil.” He lets out a long sigh and drops his back. It doesn’t look like the most comfortable position.</p><p>The dog whines and rolls onto its side. </p><p>“You’re right,” Billy says, sitting up and dropping his elbows onto his knees, “it’s only a little while longer, then I — we — can leave. Just gotta make sure I survive until then. Need to keep saying ‘yessir’ and ‘no sir’ and ‘respect and responsibility’ and not look him in the eyes, can’t flinch.”</p><p>Steve is shocked by how bitter Billy sounds. And then his brain recognizes what Billy has actually said. Steve’s stomach drops as he puts the rumors he’s heard together with Billy’s words. Then Steve remembers the bruises on Billy’s torso that he’d noticed in practice a few weeks ago, when they were playing skins versus shirts. Billy had tried to switch to shirts, but the coach wasn’t having any of it. And, yeah, Steve thinks, given what’s he’s just heard, that Neil’s the cause of those bruises.</p><p>And, also, he really shouldn’t be listening to this. Like at all. </p><p>“I dunno what was up with Harrington today,” Billy says, lighting another cigarette. Steve hears the flick-flick of the lighter and sees the orange glow in the dimness. And then his brain registers Billy’s words.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>Billy inhales and exhales a stream of smoke that rises up slowly into the sky, thinning and spreading out until it disappears. “He kept looking at me.” Billy inhales again and then says, while exhaling, “I don’t know why? I don’t think I did anythin’ to him recently. Maybe he’s still pissed about what happened in the showers.”</p><p>Steve swallows. What happened in the showers? He honestly doesn’t know what Billy’s talking about. </p><p>“I know Tommy was just trying to make him feel bad about that Wheeler chick, but shouldn’t Harrington be mad at him then? Maybe he knows…”</p><p>Steve cranes forward, not wanting to miss any of Billy’s words. What does Billy think he knows? Steve doesn’t know anything, okay? Nothing. </p><p>Billy sips his beer again and tosses the empty into the nearest scrap heap. The dog’s ears twitch at the sound, but it doesn’t move. Ha, Steve thinks, Billy’s managed to tame it. “Maybe,” Billy finally continues, voice a little lower, as if he’s thinking about something and just letting the words spill out, almost as if he’s in a trance, “maybe he knows that I wanted — want — to touch him. The way he looked, with the water rolling down his stomach.” Billy lets out a derisive little laugh and says, “I just wanted to lick it off him.”</p><p>Steve’s mouth drops open, as the image of Billy dropping to his knees in front of him and dragging his tongue down Steve’s stomach comes unbidden. Steve lets out a little gasp and jolts backwards. He really shouldn’t be listening to this. But. But he just heard Billy say that he wanted to lick him. And, clearly, given the way Steve’s body is responding, Steve wants that, too.</p><p>Steve licks his lips and listens to the blood pounding in his ears. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like he can go up to Billy right now, come sneaking out of the woods, and say, “Yes, please. Lick me.” No. That would get him a swift punch to the face. </p><p>But. Steve takes a few more steps back in the direction of his car. He’s fairly certain he’s parked far enough away that he can start his car without Billy hearing. So, maybe, Steve could drive up, park next to Billy’s car, and they could… What? Talk like they’re old pals? As far as Billy’s concerned, Steve doesn’t like him. And, vice versa for that matter. Steve isn’t supposed to have any soft feelings for the guy. They’re rivals; an old king versus a new one, a deposed king versus his successor. </p><p>It’s a stupid idea, but it’s the only one that Steve has. And he needs to do something — <em>anything</em> — to get out of this rut he’s in, or he’s going to disappear entirely. Mind made up, Steve treks back to his car and, thankfully, it is a trek, so he knows that it’s doubtful Billy will hear it when he starts the engine. </p><p>Steve pulls into the parking area near the junkyard and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that the Camaro is still there. He stops the engine and looks at the bat, debating if he should take it. Part of his brain is yelling <em>yes, take it, you can’t be defenseless out there, remember that shrinking gap, it’s going to keep getting smaller and smaller; is this night where monsters come back?!</em> But, Steve recognizes, on some level, that that part of his brain is paranoid and hysterical. Another part of his brain is countering with <em>Billy is going to think you’re crazy if you show up with a nail-studded bat. And you don’t want that; you want him to like you, you want him to trust you, you want him to li</em>— and Steve cuts off that part of his brain, the part that is a horny teenager; the part that just discovered the person (guy) he is lusting after (albeit for only a short while) could be potentially feeling the same way about him. </p><p>And, honestly, neither of these parts is helping him out. They leave him feeling slightly unhinged, a little maniacal, and, of course, saturated with the always present paranoia. </p><p>Steve looks at the bat one more time and then leaves it lying on the floor in the back of his car; but he takes the flashlight. And leaves the doors unlocked, hoping that if something does happen, there will be enough time for him to bolt back to his car and grab the bat. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve flicks the flashlight on as heads into the junkyard and tries to take some slow deep breaths to steady his racing heart. He’s about to talk to Billy Hargrove, he needs to have his wits about him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Harrington,” Billy says, when Steve is about ten feet away from him. Steve can tell he’s squinting against the glare of the flashlight and he lowers it quickly. This leaves Billy in shadows and Steve is unable to read Billy’s facial expression. “What the hell are you doing here?” Billy’s voice says in the darkness. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Oh. Shit. In all his planning, Steve didn’t actually come up with a reason for being here, in the junkyard, at night. “Uhhhhh…” Steve says, drawing out the syllable, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. “My, uh, my family showed up today. Just, uh, needed to get out of the house, y’know.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy doesn’t say anything. But Steve’s eyes have adjusted enough that he can make out a raised eyebrow on Billy’s face, expressing, Steve presumes, a complete disbelief for Steve’s excuse. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve swallows and licks his lips. “My dad’s brothers, they’re like my dad, but worse. And I really couldn’t deal with them tonight,” he says, quietly, steeling himself for Billy’s snide remarks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Instead, Billy just says, “Families suck sometimes.” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And Steve, well, his knees go shaky with relief. He made an overture and Billy had accepted it. “They sure do,” Steve agrees, as he stops in front of Billy.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The dog gets up and walks over to Steve. Steve sticks out his hand and the dog reaches out to sniff at his palm. “Hey, buddy,” Steve says, “it’s been a bit.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You know the dog, too?” Billy asks, with something that sounds like forced nonchalance. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’ve seen it around,” Steve says, rubbing the dog behind its ears. The dog drops its mouth open and its tongue lolls in happiness. “You’re a good dog,” Steve says to the dog, grinning. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy hums in agreement and opens up another beer. “So, you usually come here when you wanna escape your relatives?” Billy asks, after he takes a long swallow. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve watches Billy’s throat move when he does that, and Steve wants to reach out and drag his fingers down the front of it. He clenches his hands hard to stop himself from doing that. “Huh?” Steve mutters, realizing that though he’d heard Billy’s question, he didn’t comprehend it.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy grins and licks his lips. “I asked if this is where you escape to when you’re trying to avoid home,” he repeats.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh.” Steve drops down to the ground, brings his knees to his chest, and wraps his arms around them. The dog looks at him mournfully when it realizes that Steve’s not going to continue scratching under its chin. It plops down between the two of them, almost equidistant, as if it doesn’t want to choose between them. “I don’t have a usual spot,” Steve finally responds, “I tend to wander.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“That doesn’t seem too safe,” Billy counters. Then, surprising Steve, and, given Billy’s expression, surprising himself too, Billy holds out a beer to Steve. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve takes it. “Thanks man, I shoulda brought my own, but, y’know?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy nods, “Couldn’t sneak the alcohol out with all those extra people around?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “well, more like I needed to get out of there as fast as possible. Told my mom I was studying with Tommy.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts and then lets the sound grow into a little chuckle. “Your parents really don’t know what’s going on with you, do they?” he asks, holding his can up so Steve can cheers him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve shakes his head and taps his can against Billy’s, relishing the easy atmosphere that the dark and the dog and the alcohol have made between them. “No and you don’t know the half of it,” Steve says. “They still think I’m dating Nancy.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh?” Billy quirks an eyebrow in surprise.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh-huh, I’ve told them at least six times that she broke up with me; it hasn’t stuck.” Steve takes a sip of his beer, it’s not bad, a little light for his tastes, but it’s free, so he’s not going to complain.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“She broke up with you?” Billy asks, and there’s something in his tone that Steve can’t read.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” he replies, “almost a year ago. I don’t blame her, we wouldn’t have worked out, anyway,” he hastens to add, lest Billy think that he’s still pining over Nancy, which he isn’t. At all. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nah,” Steve says, feeling the buzz of alcohol hit his system, it leaves him feeling warm and loose-limbed. So, he goes with it and lets himself sprawl out on the ground. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Jeez, Harrington, you turn into a lightweight?” Billy asks, glancing over. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve holds his gaze and his tongue, without asking his brain for permission, drags across his bottom lip. Steve grins when he sees Billy flush and look away. “It’s possible,” he says, tone a little sober, and adds, “haven’t been sleeping too great, lately.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“From the looks of you, you haven’t been sleepin’ well for awhile now,” Billy counters. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Thanks,” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong,” Billy says, and Steve can tell he’s slurring slightly, “it’s not that obvious, but it’s easy to spot if you know what you’re looking for.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And you,” Steve finishes his beer, tosses the can into the darkness, and grins as he hears it ting off something metallic, “know what to look for?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Billy says, passing Steve the last beer, “I got a lifetime of training in that respect.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Well,” and Billy’s grinning, but it’s not a nice one, it’s sharp, almost painful looking, “when you gotta spend your time reading your dad’s face to avoid his fists, you get real good at interpreting facial expressions.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve swallows, unable to look away from Billy. He is surprised that Billy’s even said this. How much has he had to drink? Does he know what he’s saying?</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So, when I look at you,” Billy continues, dropping his eyes as he taps a cigarette out of the pack, “I see those dark circles. I see that pinched expression around your mouth when you think no one is looking. I see when you bring that grin up — y’know the one, the ‘I’m fine and things are going great because I’m the king’ grin — but you don’t realize that you’re not bringing it up quick enough.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No?” Steve asks, his voice a bit high. He is a little awed that Billy has managed to see past his defenses. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nope,” Billy says, lighting his cigarette. He exhales, holds out the cigarette, and grins as Steve takes it with trembling fingers. “Don’t get me wrong, most people don’t see it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No?” Steve asks again. He brings the cigarette to his mouth, inhales, holds it back out to Billy, and slowly breathes out the smoke. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nope,” Billy says again, taking the cigarette back. “People see what they want to see. And they want to see that you’re fine because, if you’re not fine, then it’s possible that they’re not fine either. King Steve’s gotta run the school, right? And if he’s not, then who’s in charge? Who will lead the sheep?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I thought you were leading them,” Steve mutters, bitterly, “isn’t that what happened? You took my title. That’s what Tommy said.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“There’s a transition period,” Billy says, “the old gives way to the new. And you, baby, you’re old.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, unable to stop the exhaustion from seeping into his voice. “All hail King Billy.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>At this, Billy snorts. “You think that’s what I want,” he says, pointedly meeting Steve’s eyes, but Steve doesn’t know what he’s trying to say with that expression. “You think,” Billy continues, “that I want to be the king of the sheep? Be in charge of leading them onto newer and shinier things? You think that I want to be the ruler of a bunch of idiots that are so wrapped up in themselves, they can’t even tell when you, their former king, is suffocating under the weight of something so big or so dark that it’s stealing your sleep? You, who’s supposed to only care about being king. You, who didn’t even fight when some upstart decided to come in and steal your crown?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve swallows, trying to take in Billy’s words, but all he can hear is <em>you, their former king, is suffocating under the weight of something so big or so dark that it’s stealing your sleep</em>. How did Billy know? Did Steve give something away? Is the government coming to lock him up? Is he going to be scurried away, hidden in the dark, because he was so careless as to let something slip? Is—</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“—eve? Steve?” Billy says, leaning forward, and wraps his hand around Steve’s upper arm, jerking Steve out of his spiralling thoughts. “You still with me, man?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve shivers, as if he’s trying to shake off the dark place he just went to, and Billy lets go of his arm. “So,” Steve says after a minute, “you don’t want to be king because teenagers are being teenagers?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Basically,” Billy agrees, stubbing out his cigarette. He holds out the pack to Steve, who shakes head, Billy shrugs, and taps out another one.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Basically,” Steve muses. “It’s not their fault,” he adds, surprising himself, “who has the time or the emotional capacity to worry about other people when there’s so much pressure on them right now? Gotta get good grades, join the right clubs, do all the things necessary to get into college, y’know? Need to figure all this out so you don’t screw up the rest of your life.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy makes a noncommittal sound and Steve can tell he doesn’t agree.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Well,” Steve finally says, after the silence has stretched on long enough to make him itch under his skin, “whether you want them or not, they’re yours now.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No,” Steve agrees, easily, “but it is easier to be king, isn’t it? Than to be on the outside?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What do you think?” Billy asks, “tell me the truth, from one king to another, is — was — it easier to be king? Trying to live up to their expectations? Doing whatever you could to remain popular. Going along with whatever Tommy and Carol did to avoid their sharp tongues? Or did it get easier when you dropped them? When it was you and Wheeler, and you didn’t have to worry about putting that mask on in the morning?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve swallows, stunned, a little scared. Billy has managed to get under his skin, again, and tear off the disguise he wears. “No,” Steve whispers, “it wasn’t easier, not really. I mean, sure, I could get away with things when I was popular, but,” he sighs, “it was exhausting, pretending all the time, to be something that I’m not.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Are you more tired now, though?” Billy asks, softly, “dealing with whatever it is you’re dealing with, on your own?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve drops his head into his hands. He’d not been expecting this at all, when he’d parked next the Camaro. He hadn’t expected to be stripped bare by Billy Hargrove’s words of all things. “What are you,” Steve says, trying to lighten the mood, trying to alleviate the tension that is thrumming through his body, “a shrink?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No,” Billy says, “just observant, Harrington. Maybe you should try it some time, see where it gets you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Maybe.” Steve doesn’t know what else to say, the conversation has fizzled out, and Steve is suffering under the weight of Billy’s revelations. Finally, and regretting it almost as soon as it has left his mouth, Steve says, “Your dad…” But he can’t finish that thought, he lets the words hang in the air as Billy looks at him sharply.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“My dad, what?” Billy says, almost as if he’s daring Steve to say it.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve licks his lips and finally says, “He shouldn’t do that.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me that,” Billy says bitterly, “I have to live with it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You gonna leave?” Steve asks, “when school is done?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah.” Billy pats the dog’s head, it jerks up, startled out of the doze it’d been in. “Sorry,” he says, to the dog, rubbing its head. The dog wags its tail once and drops its head back on its paws. “Me and the dog are gonna go back to Cali,” Billy adds, looking Steve, “the day after graduation, we’re outta here.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“That’s good,” Steve says, letting the relief tinge his tone a little bit, he doesn’t want to scare Billy off. “Uh, you know, if you need a place to crash or something, like if things get bad, I’ve got lots of guestrooms.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy grins and says, “Except when they’re being overrun by Harringtons.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right, yeah, except then. And, believe me, it’s only now that it happens. It’s a family tradition, for some reason, my dad gets to host, and by host, I mean supply all the liquor and food, for the Harrington reunion.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Your parents must be loaded,” Billy says, as he rubs his hand through the fur on the dog’s back.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah. It’s one nice thing about being a Harrington.” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And your dad probably doesn’t show his love through his fists,” Billy adds, voice deceptively bland. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve doesn’t know how to take that, he can’t read Billy’s tone, he can’t tell if Billy is joking or angry. So, Steve does what he always does when he’s unsure, he backs down. “No, he doesn’t.” Steve wants to say that his dad doesn’t show his love in any manner, that he doesn’t know if his dad even loves him at all. But the words stick in his throat because he knows that it doesn’t compare to what Billy has to deal with.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Sorry,” Billy says, actually sounding contrite. Then he adds, after a minute, “Neil’s gotten better, now that he’s with Susan. He’s probably worried about slipping up in front of her or Max.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So, he doesn’t… to Max?” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nah,” Billy shakes his head, emphatically, “Neil’d never hit a girl, too old-fashioned for that. And I think Susan’d have enough balls to take Max and run if he ever did. But, Max, she’s starting to get under his skin. I can tell. I watch him when she’s talking. He’s got this twitch, just small one, on his right cheek, it tightens.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve stays silent, afraid if he says something or does something Billy will stop talking. But he wants to reach out and comfort Billy, somehow. Maybe throw an arm around him, or clasp his forearm, or do something that Billy will interpret as <em>I’m here, I’m on your side, you don’t have to do this alone anymore</em>. But whatever is going on between them — friendship, Steve hopes, or something more? — is too new for Steve to jeopardize with a move so blatant. So, he just waits, muscles tensing as he fights himself from reaching out. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’ve seen this twitch, not all the time, but a lot of time, right before he goes off on me,” Billy continues, completely unaware of Steve’s internal struggle, “and part of me worries that Neil’ll forget he’s ‘chivalrous’ — misogynist is more like it — that he’ll forget Max is just a kid, and not <em>his</em> kid at that, and he’ll snap.” Billy lets out a little laugh, that sounds a little wet, sounds more like a sigh combined with a sob. He clears his throat and Steve knows not to draw attention to it.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You know, the same offer goes for Max, too,” Steve says, voice even but heart racing. “If you think Neil is gonna do something — hurt her — bring her here.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>It’s dark enough now that Steve can only make out Billy’s nod because of the angle of the flashlight on the ground; it illuminates the lower half of Billy’s face, making his curls glow golden. Steve has to drop his gaze to avoid reaching out and brushing his thumb over them, to see if they’re as soft as they look. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, he’s never had an issue controlling his impulses before (or, has he just given in to them every single time? Except when he had the impulse to run away that night at the Byers’, he fought that one, turned around, and stood his ground). </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You can also talk to Hopper,” Steve adds, as his brain is filled with the images of the police chief: weary, wary, and steadfast, like the hero out of every adventure novel Steve had read as a child.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“He’s the chief of police, big guy, angry looking, but he always does the right thing.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Me and police don’t get along too well,” Billy says, voice hard, “Neil’s always been able to spin it so I’m the cause of all his problems and he’s just the doting father trying to deal with his ne’er-do-well son.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve sighs. “Just trust me, okay, Hopper will see through Neil’s bullshit. He is a good guy.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“If you say so.” Billy lights another cigarette, Steve sees the tip glow orange and wonders if Billy uses smoking to destress and, if that’s the case, is Steve making him stressed? “It’ll be a last resort though,” Billy adds.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay.” Steve knows when to back down. “Just letting you know that there are options. I don’t,” Steve clears his throat, “I don’t want to read in the paper one day that a local kid went psycho and killed his dad. Even if that bastard deserves it, you don’t. He doesn’t get to take away the rest of your life.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy looks thoughtful and says, grinning, “I didn’t think you cared, Harrington.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What can I say?” Steve shrugs. “I’m a reformed asshole.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy laughs. “You surprised me. I thought for sure I had you pegged — jock, prom-king, so shallow that you could always see the bottom. But then, your personality began bleeding through the edges. Surprised me. You got some depth to you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve isn’t sure how to respond to this. He feels both slightly insulted and complimented by Billy’s words. “Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out, “I got layers, hidden depths. Just watch, I’ll keep surprisin’ you.” And Steve’s stomach drops when he realizes what he just said sounded way too much like he was flirting. He flushes, unable to look at Billy to see if Billy had some how picked up on this. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts and Steve interprets that sound as Billy being completely aware of how Steve sounded. Steve holds his breath, waiting to see what Billy will say. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Billy says, after taking another drag on his cigarette.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve swallows; his stomach is still coiling, and his heart is jackhammering against his ribs. “Sure,” he says, applauding himself on how normal his voice sounds.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The dog jerks up between them, ears twitching. Then it jumps up to its feet and takes off deeper into the junkyard. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Probably smelled a cat,” Billy says, “but maybe we should head out too, I’m freezing my balls off here.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve says, his lack of enthusiasm colouring his voice, “right, go home and face the music.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Maybe,” Billy agrees, standing and stretching. Then he takes a final drag on his cigarette and bends over to stub it out. “You never know, they may all be wasted by now,” he adds, when he spins back to Steve. Billy sticks out his hand and Steve grabs it, only with slight hesitation.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You’re not gonna push me away?” Steve asks, remembering what happened last week in basketball practice.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nah,” Billy says, easily, “I don’t have any nuggets of wisdom to impart. And, besides, we’re friends now.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve takes these words in, as Billy hauls him to his feet. Friends, that’d be nice, Steve hasn’t had a friend in so long — well besides Nancy, but he sometimes wonders if she only talks to him because she’s feeling guilty or obligated. “Yeah,” Steve agrees, “we’re friends now.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy lets go of Steve’s hand and brushes off the back of his legs. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna go any easier on you in practice. That’d be doing you a disservice.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’d expect nothing less,” Steve replies, brushing the bits of dead grass and leaves off of his ass, purposely not looking at Billy when he does the same.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>They head towards the direction of their cars, Steve lighting up their path with his flashlight. He manages to grab Billy’s arm and stop him from stepping into a hole in the ground that’s disguised by the shadows the light makes. “Careful,” Steve says, “we’d be screwed if our star player manages to twist an ankle.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So, you’re finally admitting I’m better than you,” Billy quips, tongue dragging along his bottom lip, and then his face splits into a wide grin.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No one will believe you if you tell them I said that,” Steve says, returning Billy’s grin with one of his own. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“’m not gonna tell them,” Billy says, a little soberly, “I’ll just cherish the words when you’re sprawled out on the court, knowing that Steve Harrington has said that I’m the best player.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head, besides you were the one that pushed me down.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Gotta prove my superior physical prowess some how,” Billy counters, looking at Steve from the corner of his eye. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Steve agrees, leaning against his car as Billy opens the driver side door of the Camaro. “You just keep telling yourself that,” he adds, and turns to open his own door.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy asks. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve doesn’t respond, just gets into his car and waits until Billy has gotten into his own. Then, with his heart in his mouth, Steve says, “Hargrove, I know when someone’s pulling my pigtails. You gotta work on your subtlety.” Then, sure Billy can see his pulse racing in the vein of his neck, Steve winks, wets his lips, and throws his car into reverse.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve knows that he saw Billy’s eyes widen and drop to his mouth. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Driving away and limbs going shaky from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Steve just hopes there won’t be a rumor going around the school that he’s a fairy, when he gets there tomorrow. He hopes he didn’t just fuck everything up.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <b>v. what’s worse, the monsters out there or the ones in here?</b>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>When Steve says that Billy needs to work on his subtlety, Billy’s heart drops and his mind goes to the worst possible scenario in less than a second. Steve had just been playing him and he’d found out about Billy’s preferences (guys, not girls) and Billy is going to die and—</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>—Steve winks. Steve licks his lips, making them shiny with spit in the glow of his dash lights. And drives off, leaving Billy confused, really fucking confused. But, also, there’s a bolt of desire that shoots up from his spine and floods his gut, as his brain asks <em>what if?</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And the image: Steve’s eyes hooded, mouth wet, hair falling around his face in soft waves, sticks with Billy as he drives home, as he sneaks into his house (more out of habit than necessity), as he checks on Max (she’s asleep in her bed, orange hair fanned out across her pillow), as he brushes his teeth, as he gets into bed, and then proceeds to stare at the ceiling for three hours, mind playing their whole conversation on a loop. It takes him a very long time to quiet those voices. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And then Billy dreams.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy dreams often. Sometimes he dreams of his mother on a beach. Sometimes he dreams of monsters, especially if he’s been watching horror movies the night before (he should never have watched <em>The Thing</em>). And Thursday night is the same, Billy dreams. He dreams of Neil yelling at him. But the dream shifts when Steve shows up, putting himself between Neil and Billy, as if he’s Billy personal guardian angel.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy wakes up feeling… confused. He thinks that this is his new state of being now: perpetual confusion. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And it sucks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy is afraid that rumors will be going around when he gets to school. He pulls into the parking lot just as Harrington is getting out of his car. Steve looks tired, but that’s his usual state of being; Billy hadn’t been lying the night before when he’d said that he could read the exhaustion in every movement, every facial expression, every dark circle under his eyes, every downturn of his mouth, every furrow between his brows. That part is definitely true. Billy might have stretched the truth when he’d implied that he’d watched everyone that closely. It is only Steve that Billy has eyes for. It’s only Steve that Billy wants to watch. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>(Neil is necessary due to circumstances beyond Billy’s control, if it were up to Billy, he’d never lay eyes on the man again.)</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve gives Billy a hesitant smile and an even more hesitant wave. Billy responds with a suggestive tongue waggle and exaggeratedly raised eyebrows. He laughs when he sees Steve flush bright red. Harrington is not as brave when there’s no cover of darkness or alcohol lowering his inhibitions. Billy gets that, it’s not as easy to be brave in the daylight when your secrets could get you hurt. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve sits beside Billy at lunch, startling Billy out of his thoughts.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You have any issues last night?” Steve asks, his voice even and relaxed. But Billy knows that what Steve is really asking is <em>did Neil beat the shit out of you</em> or something along those lines.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nope,” Billy responds, shoving a few cold fries into his mouth – no matter how early he gets to the cafeteria, the fries are always tepid at best. “You?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at Steve.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Huh?” Steve asks, his eyes had already glazed over and Billy would bet good money that the guy had already started dreaming.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Your uncles,” Billy clarifies, “did they give you any shit?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh.” Steve exhales and grimaces. “Nah, everyone was pretty wasted by the time I got back. It was fun times at the old Harrington residence, trying to wrangle everyone into rooms or onto couches.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts, trying to picture Steve strong-arming people into bed. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I swear,” Steve continues, “they turn more and more into teenagers every year. I feel like I’m the only responsible one, and I’m only eighteen.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Scary thought,” Billy quips, “Steve Harrington: Responsible adult.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Don’t I know it,” Steve sighs, pushing his tray forward and plunking his forehead down on the plastic table.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You gonna survive, Harrington?” Billy asks, leaning back and stretching his legs out, for once letting himself relax at school, letting the façade drop for a few seconds.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Maybe,” comes Steve’s muffled response.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You gotta,” Billy says, “it’s gonna be no fun if I wipe the floor with you at practice because you’ve fallen asleep on your feet.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And I definitely wouldn’t want to be the reason that you don’t have any fun,” Steve says, sarcastically, lifting his head to give Billy a little glare. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy returns Steve’s glare with a grin. Steve’s expression softens and then he puts his head back down.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wake me up when lunch is over?” Steve asks, folding his arms under his head and shifting around to, Billy presumes, get more comfortable in the very uncomfortable chairs.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Sure thing,” Billy says, “I’m gonna steal your brownie though.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve doesn’t respond. And Billy doesn’t bring up Steve’s words or the wink or the wet lips from the night before. Maybe he’d imagined it?</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Susan and I are gonna go away for the weekend,” Neil says in Billy’s general direction, from behind a newspaper, when Billy gets home from practice. “You are going to stay here and look after your sister.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“But,” Billy starts to say; he stops when Neil lowers the paper and glares at him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Billy, do we need to talk about Respect and Responsibility?” Neil asks. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The words are said so they appear capitalized in Billy’s brain, much like a headline on the front of Neil’s paper. Billy knows that Neil isn’t really asking. Sure, it’s disguised as a question, but it’s actually a threat. If Billy says <em>yes</em>, his question will be answered with fists. So, Billy swallows down the fury, forces down the impotent rage. Just need to make it to June, he tells himself. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No, sir,” Billy mutters, dropping his hands to his sides, trying to keep the tension from his fingers so his hands don’t close into fists, causing Neil to counter with his own fists.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Good,” Neil says, bringing his paper back up. “We’re leaving as soon as Susan gets home.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right,” Billy forces out through his clenched teeth. He turns and takes a step towards his room. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Billy,” Neil calls out, causing Billy to halt and slowly turn around. But Neil doesn’t look up from the paper.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yes, sir?” Billy says, trying to make his tone mild, but his body is thrumming with energy, trying to force its way out through the cracks in Billy’s armor. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’ll be calling to check up on you,” Neil says, again, not deigning Billy with a glance, “so I’ll know if you aren’t home. Don’t do anything that would cause me to give you a talking to.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy swallows, knowing that a ‘talking to’ was code for something much worse. “No, sir,” he responds. Then he waits, to see if Neil will say anything else. After a minute of silence, Billy turns back around and continues to his room. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Susan comes home and she and Neil leave shortly thereafter, leaving Billy, Max, and the elephant in the room (their broken relationship) alone in a frigid silence.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So,” Billy starts to say, feeling just as impotent as earlier, but for different reasons. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So,” Max says back, glaring at him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy takes a slow, deep breath and exhales through his nose. “Look,” he says, “I know you hate me and I’m not too fond of you either.” Lie. “But, can we work together so we both can enjoy this weekend away from Ne — our parents?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Max huffs, crosses her arms, and then gives a small nod. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Billy says, letting a small smile touch the corners of his mouth. “Neil said he was gonna call and check in, but I doubt he’d do that tonight, unless they’re going somewhere close…” Billy trails off, he doesn’t actually know where they’re going.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Mom said the drive is about four hours.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right, so they won’t call tonight. So, I’m gonna go… have some fun.” Billy doesn’t really know what ‘fun’ entails anymore, but he really wants to get out some of the frustration that’s been burning through his skin.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Could you drop me at the arcade?” Max asks, voice slightly less sullen than before. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Are you gonna be able to get home okay?” Billy doesn’t want to take her if she can’t find a ride. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh-huh. I’m supposed to meet some friends there, I can ask one of them for a ride.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Billy drags the word out, letting it dubiously hang in the air. “Are these friends the bunch of nerds I’ve seen you with?” he asks, after Max refuses to meet his gaze.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Ummmm…”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy sighs and tells himself that it isn’t his business. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know. Okay, get your shit, we’re leavin’ in five. But you gotta be here tomorrow so we can play nice for Neil.” He doesn’t stop himself from saying the name this time. Neil is the one that holds all the cards and Billy really doesn’t want to piss him off.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Max nods. “Okay, but you’re ordering pizza for us tomorrow. Mom gave me some money.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy sighs, feeling a little hope at this small victory. “Yeah, sure.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy remembers to bring a flashlight to the junkyard this time, which is good, because he’s here later than normal. He wants to beat the crap out of something, but he needs to be able to see what he’s hitting. He grabs the tire iron of his trunk and gives it a few experimental swings, relishing the solid weight of it in his hands. Yes, he can do some serious damage with this. Tucking the tire iron under one arm, he grabs the twelve-pack of beer that he’d carelessly thrown in the trunk after he’d dropped off Max. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy’s never had any issues buying beer in this town, just plaster on that grin and walk in like he owns the joint. It helps that he flirts outrageously with the woman who works there Friday evenings. She undresses him with her eyes and drags the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. When Billy flirts back, she flushes and backs down, and he knows that she’s all talk and no action. But her smiles still work their way under his skin and he wants to force them out.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy slams the trunk closed and bends over to pick up the flashlight. When he flicks it on, he can see that an odd fog has started to roll in. It hangs just over the ground, blanketing it in roiling, translucent foam; it is going to make the trek to whichever scrap heap he wants to take out his anger on even more treacherous than usual. Walking slowly, he makes his way into the junkyard, carefully balancing the beer and his tire iron while trying to illuminate the path in front of him. His footsteps make the fog swirl away, clearing the ground for a few scant seconds. He manages to catch himself twice before stepping into a hole.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Dog,” Billy calls, when he’s stopped in front of a rather pristine looking truck, well, the metal is in good condition, the tires and engine block are gone. After waiting for a few seconds to see if he can hear the dog – he can’t – he sets the twelve-pack into the back of the truck. Billy doesn’t want to set it down on the ground in the fog, but he doesn’t have a good reason for this. The fog is just unsettling him. It’s the atmosphere, he tells himself, the fog, the dark, it’s like he’s stepped into a gothic horror novel. Some vampire is going to drag him away to its castle in the middle of the moors or on a cliff somewhere.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy rolls his shoulders and swings his arms, warming up his muscles for the beating their about belt out. He picks up the tire iron and adjusts his grip on it. Then he draws it back over his shoulder and brings it forward in a sweeping arc. He grins maniacally as the tire iron connects with the truck in a loud clang that echoes into the junkyard. The impact reverberates through his hands and up his arms, leaving them aching. He draws back again, grinding his teeth as the adrenaline starts to take hold, and swings the tire iron. It hits just left of the first spot, further denting the truck and sending another loud metallic clang echoing out into the night. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Swing. Clang. Swing. Clang. Swing. Clang. Billy’s heartrate starts picking up and his breath comes in short pants. His palms start to sweat, making his grip on the tire iron less certain. He pauses, wipes his palms off on his pants and sees that they’re tinged red. He grimaces, knowing that if he keeps this up, they’ll start to blister.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Swing. Clang. Breathe.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy’s arms shake with exertion when he lowers the tire iron. The fog has gotten thicker, and moves slowly when he steps through it, like it has a great weight holding it to the ground. Billy grabs a beer, cracks it open, and takes a long swig. The sky is clear, which makes the fog clinging to ground even more disconcerting. Actively holding his breath, Billy realizes how quiet it is, no wind shifting the trees, no random rustling of grass, no animalistic sounds of any kind. The quiet seeps into Billy’s head, making his thoughts paradoxically louder. <em>Do we need to talk about Respect and Responsibility?</em> cycling through his head become even more deafening with each pass. <em>Respect and Responsibility</em> appears in his vision like afterimages, pulsating in time with his heart. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I dunno, <em>dad</em>,” Billy spits out, trying to break out of the trap his brain has created in the dark, in the silence. He gulps the rest of the beer, some of spilling from his mouth, down his chest, making him shiver in the cool air. “Do we?” Billy whips the can away from him into the darkness. He’s panting, feeling this hatred bubble and boil in his gut, bleeding through into his skin. He doesn’t know how to get rid of it. Some part of him knows that he won’t actually be able to get rid of it until after he’s away from Neil. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Let me tell you about Respect and Responsibility,” he shouts. “How about you take responsibility for mom, huh, dad, how about it? You were the one that forced her out. You’re the reason she left me behind. Why don’t you take responsibility for that? Or! Better yet, take responsibility for being a fucking parent and stop trying to make me be one to Max! Fuck!” Billy’s voice gets louder and louder, until he’s screaming the last word. And then he spins and slams his fist into the truck. Fortunately, the angle is off, and the blow is glancing. But it causes Billy enough pain that he snaps himself out of his rage. He cradles his hand, as the pain reverberates up his wrist. It’s not the good, clean pain that came from beating the crap out of the truck with the tire iron, but an aching, sharp pain that indicates Billy might have done some serious damage. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“We’ll be screwed if our star player breaks his wrist,” comes a voice from the dark that Billy recognizes as Steve’s, echoing the sentiments from the night before. Billy sees a swath of light on the ground that moves forward, which he recognizes as the glow of a flashlight, once he’s able to get his bearings. In the glow of Billy’s own light, he can see as Steve comes strolling out of the woods near the scrap heap off to Billy’s left. Steve’s holding the flashlight in his left hand, a bat with fucking nails through it in his right, and he’s got a bottle tucked under his left arm.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You didn’t break it, did you?” Steve asks, when he comes closer, flicking off his flashlight. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No,” Billy mutters, gingerly prodding his wrist with his fingers. It’s sore, but there’s no excruciating pain to signify a broken bone or torn ligament. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Of that, I have no doubt,” Steve agrees, leaning against the truck and lowering his bat to the ground to rest against his leg. He unscrews the lid off the bottle and offers it to Billy. “Stole this from my dad,” he says, as Billy takes it. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy settles against the truck, a few feet away from Steve, and takes a swallow. He shudders as the vodka burns down his throat. “Your dad doesn’t have the best taste.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“This was the only thing I could take without my parents noticing — they had like twenty bottles there for mixed drinks.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Your family a bunch of drunks, Steve?” Billy asks, passing the bottle back to Steve.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve takes a large swallow and grimaces. “I’m thinking that’s the only way they can deal with being around each other for the weekend, they need to be slightly drunk all the time.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts. “And the only way you can deal with it is by running away?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve sighs and nods. “Not so much running away, as a strategic retreat. They say less cruel things when they’re pleasantly buzzed.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And here I was gonna suggest that your family and mine should get together. But it seems like the Harringtons are happy drunks, whereas Neil’s a mean one. He gets a thrill out of hurting people, making them just as miserable as he is.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve says, drawing the word out like he’s considering it. “I think the Harringtons are unintentionally mean. Or maybe it is intentional? I dunno. They say stuff to show how superior they are compared to you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh?” Billy asks, reaching to grab another beer. He holds one out to Steve, who shakes his head, and takes another swallow of vodka.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy waits to see if Steve will explain further. He sees Steve stare at the fog, eyebrows furrowed. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Finally, Steve says, “You can bet they’re all there laughing at me, at least for a little bit. Knowing that I can’t get into college because my grades have gone down the toilet. And maybe my dad will defend me to save face, y’know? But he’ll actually agree with them. Hell, I agree with them. My only chance to get outta Hawkins and I’m not smart enough to take it. Maybe…” Steve trails off and takes another drink, still grimacing. “You think this stuff would get more palatable the more you drink it, but no, it’s terrible.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You shoulda stole some orange juice or something.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “I wasn’t thinking, besides it would have been awkward to carry it all the way here.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You walked here?” Billy asks, trying to calculate the distance between here and Steve’s house.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve shrugs and mutters, “My car got blocked in. I knew that would happen. I meant to move it, but my uncle kept talking at me.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Well,” Billy says, raising his can, “here’s to terrible families. Fuck ‘em.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve touches the bottle to the can and says, “Terrible families. Fuck ‘em.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Anyways,” Billy blurts out, after he’s swallowed more of his beer and sees Steve’s dejected face, “there’s still time to pick up your grades, it’s only November.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve sighs. “I know,” he agrees, “and I keep telling myself that ‘today’s the day’, y’know, ‘today’s the day that I’ll turn things around’. But. But then…”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Then you don’t sleep?” Billy suggests.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I don’t sleep,” Steve agrees. “Or I do sleep, and I dream, and then I start seeing things.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Seeing things?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agrees, bitterly. “Then I get paranoid. Or already am paranoid? I dunno. My parents don’t talk about it, pretend that it doesn’t exist.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy reaches out, despite his brain yelling at him, telling him this isn’t a good idea, and clasps his hand around Steve’s upper arm. “Is this why you’re carrying around a bat with nails,” he asks, when Steve looks at him with a startled expression on his face. Billy deliberately drops his gaze to the bat.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve lets out a shaky breath and a little laugh. “Partly, yes, but mostly, no.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What the hell does that mean?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve’s expression sours. “I really can’t tell you,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I’m fine.” Steve pulls up a grin and shrugs out of Billy’s grasp. “I’m fine,” he reiterates. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy looks at him, narrowing his eyes, appraising. He takes in the brittle grin, cracking at the edges. It’s the one that Steve wears at school, in practice, whenever anyone is looking. Now that it’s back in place, Billy realizes that Steve hadn’t been wearing it around him at all during the day or during any of their conversation the night before or during this conversation. It’s only now, when Billy assumes Steve feels like he’s been backed into a corner, that he pulls it back up. Billy can tell that it’s not fitting right though, tugging at the edges, straining around his eyes, like a mask that’s too small.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Whatever you are,” Billy says, mildly, “it’s definitely not fine.” He grabs his pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket and taps one out. He lights it, still staring at Steve, still assessing him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’m fine,” Steve repeats. His hand has gone back down to grab the bat and Billy can see Steve’s thumb moving up and down over the handle. Billy assumes that this is an unconscious action, a self-soothing gesture. He knows that everyone has them, even him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You’re fine,” Billy echoes, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “You can’t sleep, your grades are slipping, you’re seeing things, you’re paranoid. But you’re fine? Does that sound <em>fine</em> to you, Harrington?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I dunno, <em>Hargrove</em>,” Steve spits out, “what do you know about fine, anyways, you were just screaming at a truck.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts and then lets the laugh out. Still chuckling, he says, “Here’s the thing, Steve, I’m very aware that I’m <em>not</em> fine.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No?” Steve breathes out, sinking back, as if he’s lost the leg to stand on.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nope,” Billy says. He takes another drag on his cigarette. “But,” he adds, “I’m not pretending I’m fine either. I know I got some serious fucking anger issues and I know what’s caused them.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No kidding,” Steve mutters. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And,” Billy says, loudly, talking over Steve, “knowing that doesn’t make them go away. So even if you don’t know why <em>you’re not fine</em>, which, by the way, I suspect you know why, or at least partially why, that doesn’t actually help too much.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Then what will?” Steve asks in a small voice. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I dunno, man,” Billy says, slumping back against the truck. He holds out his cigarette to Steve, who takes it. “I’m still trying to figure that shit out. Part of me hopes that once I get outta here, away from Neil, things will be magically better. But… I know that’s total shit. Just because you remove yourself from the problem, doesn’t mean you’ve removed yourself from all the damage the problem’s caused.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve takes a drag on the cigarette and passes it back to Billy. “You know,” he says, after Billy takes the cigarette back, “you’re a lot smarter than you let on.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You saying I’m more than just a pretty face?” Billy asks, smirking, “Harrington, I’m touched.” He bends over and stubs out the cigarette.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I thought we’d moved onto ‘Steve’,” Steve mutters, “haven’t we moved beyond last names?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Maybe. Or maybe I just like to keep you on your toes.” And that sounds a lot like flirting. Billy really shouldn’t be flirting with him; they haven’t even talked about what Steve said and implied the night before.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You already do that,” Steve responds, voice slurring the words a little. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“How much of that bottle have you drunk?” Billy asks, grabbing it from Steve’s grip. It’s half empty. “I’m just gonna put that over here,” Billy says, setting it down next to the tire iron. Or, at least he assumes that’s where he put it down, the fog is too thick and too deep to dissipate, despite his vigorous waving.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve grabs Billy’s flashlight and turns it so it illuminates more of the junkyard. Billy can see his throat working as he swallows a few times, like he’s trying to force down a lump that’s stuck in his throat. His eyes widen and dart back and forth. Billy assumes that he’s doing this to get more light into them so he can see better, it’s something a frightened animal does when it feels threatened. Then Steve shivers and secures his hold on the bat.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Weird weather,” Billy comments, eyes still drawn to Steve’s face, trying to figure out what has got him so scared.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right,” Steve says, swallowing again, and wetting his lips, like the adrenaline has already kicked in and stolen his saliva. “We should probably get out of here.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“The fog’s got you freaked out?” Billy asks, “or are you seeing something out there?” He squints, trying to see what Steve’s looking at. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No,” Steve says, voice a little high, “there’s nothing out there, I’m not seeing anything, it’s just…” He wets his lips again and continues with, “it’s just something doesn’t feel right.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy makes a noncommittal sound. “Okay,” he says, in a placating manner, knowing that it’s going to get a rise out of Steve, hopefully snap him out of whatever spiral he’s trapped in. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>It works. Steve spins, hip bouncing off the truck box, to glare at Billy. “Look, I know you think I’m paranoid. But maybe there’s a good reason for it?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Is this one of those things you can’t talk about? One of those things that you’re covering up with the ‘I’m fine’ bullshit?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve hisses out a breath in frustration. “Maybe, maybe not. Even if it is, I can’t talk about it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right,” Billy says, “you can’t talk about it. What about last night, can you talk about that?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wh-what?” Steve says, voice catching on the word.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You know, the whole ‘pulling my pigtails’ thing, the wink? What kind of shit are you trying to pull?” Billy asks, taking a step forward into Steve’s space. He shouldn’t be asking this, knowing that Steve’s not entirely sober, but the not-knowing is driving him crazy.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh.” Steve closes his mouth and Billy can see a flush rising high on his cheeks. He wants to reach out and stroke his thumb over that reddened cheekbone, to see if it’s as warm as it looks. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy almost raises his arm and then a high-pitched whine comes from the other side of the junkyard, followed by a cacophony of growls. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What the fuck?” Billy hisses, grabbing the flashlight and pointing in the direction of the noises. At the diffuse end of the beam, Billy can see the shape of the dog, as it cowers in front of a pack of other dogs. “C’mon,” he says, dropping down to the ground, bringing the light with him, as he drags his hands through the fog, trying to feel for the tire iron, “we gotta help it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve grabs the light out of Billy’s hand and points it back at the dog. Billy sees that it’s moved a little closer to them during that time; but the pack of dogs is closing in fast.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy stands, tire iron firmly grasped in one hand, and whispers into Steve’s ear, “Do their faces look weird?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No,” Steve says, voice high, and shaking. Billy wants to ask him if he’s sure about the faces because he sure as hell as never seen anything like them before, maybe they’re native to Indiana? But he realizes that Steve hasn’t stopped saying <em>no</em>. It’s coming in quick pants, like he’s panicking and doesn’t believe it.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Steve,” Billy growls out, “stop. You gotta breathe, man. It’s just a pack of dogs, they’re probably as scared of us as we are of…” Billy’s talking and turning back to the animals, they’ve moved much closer since he last looked. They’ve spread out and some have jumped up onto cars, their tails moving back and forth, more reptilian than dog-like. And then he finally gets a good look at their faces. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy slams back into the side of the truck. “What,” he forces out, now it’s his voice that’s high and reedy, “the fuck are those?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Next to Billy, Steve is muttering, “Stay calm, Harrington, just stay calm, you can do this,” under his breath. Then he shoves the flashlight into Billy’s hands, adjusts his grip on the bat, takes a few steps forward, and does some experimental swings. “Billy,” he says, louder, more confident, “we gotta get outta here.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What the fuck are those things?” Billy asks again, but he’s stepping forward.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’ll try to explain later,” Steve responds, “if we survive.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“If we survive?! Steve, what? Is there a chance we won’t survive?” And then one of those <em>things</em> howls, confirming Billy’s fears that, indeed, there’s a chance, and probably a big one at that, that they wouldn’t survive.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve is jogging towards the dog and Billy hears him mutter, “I really hope you’re worth it.” The dog lets out another whine, turns, and starts bounding towards Steve. It reaches Steve and then continues past him to hide behind Billy. Billy reaches down, blindly, and pets it, not taking his eyes off the pack of monsters. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And then one monster splits open its fucking face as it takes runs and jumps off of one of the metallic heaps at Steve. Billy thinks for sure Steve is dead and he almost closes his eyes to avoid seeing that. But Steve’s already swinging the bat up and sending the thing flying back into the darkness. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Billy,” Steve shouts, “we gotta get to your car, they’re too fast to outrun on foot!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right,” Billy calls back. He looks over his shoulder to see the dog. “Come on,” he says to the dog, jerking his head towards the entrance, “we gotta go.” He hears a few more thunks and sees that the things have stopped moving towards Steve. They look like they’re sizing him up to see if he’s the more powerful predator. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve takes a few slow steps backwards towards Billy and the dog. “In about ten seconds, I’m going to turn around and we are going to run, you got that, Billy? You pick up the dog if you can, but if you can’t, just run.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy exhales a shaky breath, fear making his stomach clench, and his heart race. He drops to his knees, shifts the tire iron to the hand with the flashlight, and wraps his arm around the dog’s middle. It’s panting in fear and its eyes are showing the whites and rolling wildly. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Just tell me when,” Billy says, trying to sound braver than he feels.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right, I’m going to count down, we go when I say ‘go’.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“’kay,” Billy agrees, shifting his legs so that he’s ready to spring. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Steve says, glancing over his shoulder to confirm that Billy is actually ready. “Also,” he adds, with a slightly rueful smile, “in case we don’t make it out, I just wanted to say, I listened to you talking to the dog on Wednesday and then came back Thursday to listen again. I’m sorry. But,” and here, Billy can see him blush bright red, “I’d be open to you… uh… licking me and maybe other things.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wait. What?” Then Billy remembers what he’d been talking about before Steve had shown up. And. Well, he really hopes they survive, so Steve can at least explain that. Billy shakes his head and when he gets back to himself, he hears that Steve has already started the count. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“...two, one, go!” Steve spins, as the last word leaves his mouth. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy jerks to his feet, bringing the light around to illuminate their path. He can just barely make out the Camaro parked on the other side of the fence. And they’re off, feet pounding, breaths coming in heaving gasps. The fog flies up as they move through. Billy can hear the noises from the monsters, he can almost feel them breathing on the back of his neck, almost feel their claws on the back of his legs. He’s sure that they’re not moving fast enough. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Next to him, Steve spins, swinging out his bat to hit a monster that had almost reached them. Billy looks over his shoulder and sees the pack slow a little as the monster goes flying back into it.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“C’mon,” Steve pants out, grabbing Billy’s arm, and picking up speed. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy’s already got a stitch and is <em>really</em> regretting not working more on his cardio when they reach the fence. And then they’re at the car.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The flashlight and tire iron fall to the ground and Billy’s throws open the driver side door. On the other side, Steve’s got the passenger door open and is shoving the bat into the back seat. Steve gets in and slams the door closed. Billy shoves the dog in onto Steve’s lap, falls into the car, and shuts the door, just as the first monster jumps onto the Camaro’s hood.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Drive!” Steve yells, wrapping his arms around the dog.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’m trying!” Billy shouts back, digging into his pocket for his keys, once again cursing how tight his jeans are. He fumbles a few times and loses his grip. But he finally gets them free, starts the car, steps on the clutch, shifts it into reverse, and then stomps on the gas. The car jerks backward and for a second, Billy’s afraid he’s stalled it, but it keeps moving, and the monster slides off, unable to maintain a grip.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy hears a horrible scraping sound. “If they’ve chipped my paint, I’ll fucking kill them,” he mutters, as he shifts the gears to get moving forward. He’s all talk though, his hands are shaking with fear and adrenaline. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve lets out a weak chuckle. “Right, you do that.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy glances over and gives Steve a wry smile, which Steve returns with a shaky one of his one. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Where am I going?” Billy asks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Let’s go to my place,” Steve says, “I doubt they’d attack that many people.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Safety in numbers?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Exactly, you know where it is?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“C’mon,” Billy replies, smirking, “everyone knows where King Steve lives.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“’m not king anymore,” Steve mutters, and he presses his face into the dog’s fur. He pulls back and Billy can make out a grimace on his face. “You need a bath,” Steve says to the dog, but he still rests his forehead against the dog’s. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The dog gives a little huff in response and then continues to pant. Billy doesn’t blame it; his nerves are still thrumming with adrenaline. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy pulls onto Steve’s street and sees that Steve’s driveway is packed with cars. “You weren’t kidding about this reunion,” Billy says, parking on the road a few houses down.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve lets out a long-suffering sigh and opens the car door. The dog doesn’t move. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I think,” Steve says, looking helplessly at Billy, “you might have to come get it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy nods. “You may want to leave your bat here. I don’t even know how you got it out of the house in the first place.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“It usually lives in my car, except when my parents aren’t home.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right.” Billy gets out of the car and walks around the back to the passenger side; the dog still hasn’t gotten off of Steve’s lap. “Come on, dog, we’re going to go some place warm with food.” Then to Steve, he says, “There is food, right? I’m starving.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve grins, “There’s food. It’s all eat, drink, and be merry in there, except, y’know, without the whole being merry bit. Everyone’s various shades of miserable.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Sounds wonderful,” Billy quips, leaning over and getting his arms under the dog, “let’s go.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve gets out of the car and shuts the door. “Okay, let me go first, for… damage control.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy shifts the dog around, so its head and one front paw is resting on his left shoulder and its other paw is resting his right. “You think you can explain away a random dog and me?” he asks, securing his grip under the dog’s butt. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’m hoping,” Steve says with a grimace, “that they’ll be too wasted to notice.” Then he starts towards the house, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Billy’s following him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I kinda like him,” Billy whispers to the dog.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The dog lets out a huff, as if to say <em>no shit</em>.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve holds open the door and Billy maneuvers himself and the dog inside without scraping any flailing limbs against the doorframe. The first thing Billy notices is the noise; it’s a rumbling din, punctuated by the occasional deep bellow or shrieking laugh. Then he notices the house itself, fancy, full of people, milling about, but so impersonal. There are no pictures on the walls, just expensive looking pieces of art, that show no personality whatsoever in their choosing. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“This is…,” but Billy doesn’t know how to describe the Harrington house.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Like it’s out of a magazine?” Steve suggests, moving around Billy to get in front of him. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, that pretty much covers it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“That’s because my mother basically copied it out of one,” Steve replies, looking over his shoulder. In doing so he doesn’t see when a man walks into the foyer from the kitchen. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Steven,” the man says, swaying slightly. He’s slightly taller than Steve, bigger around the middle too, but he’s got the same hairline and nose. Must be one of the uncles or maybe even Steve’s dad?</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve jerks up. “Fuck,” he says under his breath, and then louder he says, “Uncle Robert, hi.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy files the name away for future reference. He can’t make out Steve’s facial expression, but he’s sure Steve has plastered that false grin on his face. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Robert leans against the wall and takes a drink of some sort of spirit. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says, staring at Steve. Billy can see his eyes are unfocused; he’s clearly more drunk than sober, and there’s a coldness to them that Billy doesn’t like, reminds him too much of Neil’s eyes when he’s had a few. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Well,” Billy says, stepping forward, so he’s even with Steve, lets a knife-like smile spread across his face, and narrows his own eyes, “you found him, Bobby, but he’s kinda in the middle of something, so… fuck off.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Billy!” Steve hisses, alarm lacing his voice.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy glances at him out of the corner of his eye and sees a horrified expression on Steve’s face. Billy looks at Robert and sees a very similar expression on the man’s face.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy twists the smile into a smirk. “We’ll be off now, run back to your brothers, complain about the company Steve keeps, it’ll give you something to talk about, hmmm?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve slams his mouth shut so hard that Billy can hear his teeth click. “C’mon, Hargrove, let’s go,” he mutters through clenched teeth, grabs Billy’s elbow, and jerks him towards the stairs. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>They leave before Robert can process what has happened.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“My dad is going to kill me,” Steve hisses into Billy’s ear as they climb the stairs. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Steve, we were almost torn apart by monstrous dogs right out of a Stephen King novel and you’re worried about your dad?” Billy asks, voice also low. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’ve been dealing with this a hell of a lot longer than you,” Steve counters. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And Billy stops climbing, which pulls his arm out of Steve’s grasp. “Wait. You know what those things are? You actually know what’s going on here?” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What did you think I meant when I said, ‘I’ll explain later’?” Steve asks, turning around, looking down at Billy from the stair above him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I don’t know,” Billy says, “I thought you were just saying that so I wouldn’t freak out. Wait, is the whole town in on this? Like some sort of Hawkins secret you only know if you were born here?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What? No, that’s not it at all. Look,” Steve reaches out to grab Billy’s arm again, but Billy jerks it back. Steve sighs, his shoulders slump, and he adds, “Billy, I’ll try to explain, really, I will. But for now, come up to my room.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy grins at these words and licks his lips.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve’s face immediately reddens. “No! I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly says, voice a little high.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No?” Billy asks, wiggling his eyebrows, trying to convey the <em>are you sure?</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I mean. I,” Steve stutters, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “I mean, we need to get out of sight of my family. I need to make a phone call and the dog could use a bath. Okay? Let’s just start there.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Billy says, tone mild. “We’ll start there.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy stops in the doorway of Steve’s room and takes it in. It looks like the world’s most boring plaid threw up all over the walls. Billy doesn’t know how Steve can stand it. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay, the bathroom’s through there,” Steve says, gesturing to the door next to him. “Spare towels are on the shelves. Maybe just rinse it off first? I don’t know if my soap is good for dogs.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Billy agrees and realizes his arms are starting to shake from holding the dog, and probably the adrenaline. “We’re gonna get you smelling a bit better,” he whispers into the dog’s ear. He walks into the bathroom, awkwardly flicks on the light with his elbow and sets the dog in the tub. The dog looks up at him, placidly. At least it’s stopped panting in fear. Billy grabs a folded towel and shakes it out. Then he gets the water going and adjusts the temperature. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>From the other room, Billy hears Steve talking, “Yeah, can I talk to Hopper?” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve’s calling the police? Do the police in this town regularly deal with monsters?</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy rinses the dog’s head off and rubs its ears, trying to be soothing, but also trying to stay quiet to pick up more of Steve’s conversation.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>After a minute Steve says, “Do you have a number I can reach him at? It’s an emergency.” he lets out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know it’s after eleven on a Friday night. Is he gonna be in tomorrow?” Pause. “He is. Can I leave him a message?” Longer pause, Billy rinses off the dog’s back, ears straining. Then Steve says, “I can only talk to him, okay? Look, can you just tell him that Steve Harrington — yes, that Steve Harrington — needs to talk to him. Tell him it’s really important.” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy urges the dog to roll over onto its back so he can wash its stomach, and, yep, that dog is very male. “What should we call you?” he whispers, rubbing the dog’s tummy. The dog opens its mouth in a doggy grin and yawns. “Very helpful,” he mutters.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>In the other room, Steve says, loudly, “Fine, I’ll call back in the morning,” and then slams the phone down with an even louder, “Fuck!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy runs his hands over the dog’s legs, trying to rinse out most of the dirt. The dog doesn’t smell much better, but at least he won’t be tracking mud or dirt all over Steve’s floor. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Alright. You’re as clean as you’re gonna get without soap,” Billy says, standing up and holding the towel open. “C’mere, boy.” The dog rolls over, shakes wildly, and steps out of the tub. Billy wraps him up in the towel, scrubs at him, and makes sure he thoroughly dries the dog’s paws. “Let’s go,” Billy says, tossing the towel into the hamper, and exits the bathroom with the dog in tow. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve’s sitting on his bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy sits down next to him, mirroring Steve’s position so that his elbows are also on his knees. The dog sits in front of him and Billy rubs one hand over the dog’s head. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“The dog’s definitely a boy,” Billy says to Steve, when the silence has stretched on for more than a minute. “Any thoughts on a name?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“He’s your dog,” Steve replies, straightening up, “you should name him.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I won’t be able to keep him,” Billy mutters, “Neil wouldn’t allow that.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“He might be able to stay here,” Steve says, uncertainly, glancing around his room. “We’ll figure it out, Billy.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy shrugs. Now that he’s got the dog here, his grand plans of them running away to California seem completely unfeasible. He’d only been thinking about the end result and not all the details he’d need to work out to get there. A foolish dream made by a naïve little boy. Billy sighs and falls back on the bed. Steve’s ceiling is off-white and doesn’t go with the walls at all. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So,” Billy finally says, “are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“It’s a long story,” Steve says, lying back on the bed next to Billy.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy turns to look at him, their arms are almost touching. He sits up and strips off his jacket. Steve does the same. Billy swallows, appreciating the stretch of Steve’s shirt across his chest.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy lies back again and says, “I’ve got time.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <b>vi. the unbearable intimacy of eye contact</b>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So, you’re telling me,” Billy says, staring at the ceiling, “that there is a lab with some mad scientists and they broke through to parallel dimension.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yes,” replies Steve, wondering if Billy is not looking at him on purpose. Steve can’t stop staring at Billy’s profile, the curve of his throat, the line of his jaw, the way his hair falls back onto the bed in those perfect curls. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right.” Billy swallows. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve watches his throat move and wants to brush his fingers along it, to feel the muscles shift under Billy’s skin. It’s possible that life-threatening situations make him horny, another thing that he’ll have to unpack later.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy takes a deep breath and says, “Right,” again. Then he adds, “And these scientists in this lab experimented on people and one of those people had a daughter with psychic powers. And this daughter—”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Eleven,” Steve interjects.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Eleven,” Billy repeats, “is the reason the scientists were able to punch through the barrier?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“In a nutshell, yes,” Steve agrees. “But,” he adds, “that wasn’t their original purpose, they were trying to make those people into weapons to fight the communists.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy closes his eyes and his eyelashes fan out across his cheeks. Steve wonders if he noticed when Nancy’s eyelashes did that, or if this is a new occurrence. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Billy says, still keeping his eyes closed, “But that doesn’t really matter because they still discovered this dimension and there was something living in it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And that thing in there wants to get to our dimension because it wants to feed. Because its dimension is a place like ours, but dead, empty, and void of life,” Billy continues.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve wonders if he’s trying to visualize this other place. Nancy had described it to him, but Steve hadn’t been able to form an accurate picture. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve says, “the kids call it the Vale of Shadows and the thing in there a Demogorgon.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts. “Bunch of nerds,” he mutters, “naming things after Dungeons and Dragons.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve grins and quips, “How did you know the names were from D&amp;D?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy flushes and glances over at Steve, who hasn’t stopped staring at him. They hold eye contact for a bit and Steve can’t get over how blue Billy’s eyes are. Then Billy turns his head away and Steve can the blush moving down Billy’s neck to his chest, visible, because, apparently, Billy never buttons any of his shirts. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy clears his throat. “Right. So, the things in the junkyard, you think they were… Demogorgons?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve sighs. “They looked similar, but the Demogorgon I saw walked on two legs, more like a person, less like a dog.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The dog who’d been lying quietly at Billy’s feet gives a little woof when Steve says ‘dog’, as if he thinks his name is Dog.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And,” Steve continues, “Eleven destroyed the Demogorgon, before she disappeared.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Maybe there are more?” asks Billy.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, that’s why I was trying to get hold of Hopper,” Steve mutters, “he should know that there are more.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy makes a noncommittal noise. “So, you, Nancy and Jonathan, a few adults, and a group of pre-teens, are the only people who know about this?” he asks, rolling over onto his side, facing Steve. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yep,” Steve replies, also rolling over, to face Billy, meeting his eyes again.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Man,” Billy gives a little laugh, “no wonder you’re tired.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve returns the laugh with a tired grin. “Yeah, it’s hard to sleep when you think monsters are going to come out of the woods. And, surprise, they did.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy reaches out and puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve feels the warmth bleed through his polo shirt. He wonders what Billy’s palm would feel like on his bare skin. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would,” Steve murmurs.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy grins. “It’s kinda comforting to know that there are things out there worse than Neil. And that you’ve faced them and survived. Puts things into perspective, y’know?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I guess.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“And, besides, now I know the secret, you’ve got someone you can talk to,” Billy adds, “maybe you can finally get some sleep, start getting your grades back on track.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wow,” Steve breathes out, warmth spreading through him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy looks taken aback. “What?” he asks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve licks his lips and says, “I just pegged you all wrong.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve says, holding Billy’s gaze, trying to tell Billy with his eyes that he was being sincere. “I thought you were this asshole with a short fuse—”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I am that,” Billy says, smirking, “don’t forget all-star basketball player and—”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Billy,” Steve interjects, grabbing Billy’s forearm, feeling the muscles and tendons shifts as Billy tightens his grip on Steve in surprise. “I’m being serious,” Steve continues, his thumb moving up and down the smooth skin of Billy’s wrist, “I thought you were an asshole and I’ve just told you about how there are monsters potentially running around town and you’re worried about <em>me</em>?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Someone’s got to,” Billy murmurs, face going serious, “you’re gonna run yourself into the ground if you don’t start takin’ care of yourself.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right,” Steve whispers, “that’s exactly what I mean. You’ve decided you wanna look out for me? What about you? Who’s gonna look out for you?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I dunno,” Billy responds, shifting his eyes to Steve’s mouth.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve bites his lip. “Was it true?” Steve asks, words jumbling together, as anxiety and anticipation start to coil in his gut.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You, uh, you like guys, I mean,” Steve frowns, trying to figure out what he wants to say without putting his foot in his mouth. “I mean,” he repeats, “I don’t care that you like guys. I,” he stops again, his gaze moving from Billy’s eyes to his mouth. Steve swallows. “I mean, do you like me?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>A slow smile spreads across Billy’s face and it hits Steve in the stomach. “Do you want me to like you?” Billy asks, tongue dragging along his lower lip, Steve can’t tear his eyes away. “Do you want me to…” and here he echoes Steve’s confession from earlier, “lick you and do other things to you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve lets out a shaky breath and realizes he’s still holding onto Billy’s forearm. “Uh, yes, I think so,” he says, voice cracking slightly over the words. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy raises an eyebrow and slowly drags his hand down Steve’s arm. Steve feels the roughness of the callouses and the warmth of Billy’s hand.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yes,” Steve repeats, voice firmer this time. He lets go of Billy’s arm and brings his hand up to cup Billy’s face, feeling the stubble scrape on palm, and soothes his thumb over Billy’s cheekbone. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy grins but doesn’t move. Steve wonders if he’s leaving the ball in Steve’s court, letting Steve make the first move. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve takes a deep breath, leans forward, and touches his lips to Billy’s. Billy’s lips are soft and slightly wet and then his tongue is dragging across the seam of Steve’s mouth, making him gasp. Billy’s hand slides back up Steve’s arm and over his shoulder to wrap around the back of Steve’s neck, pulling Steve in closer. Steve yields and opens his mouth, letting his tongue glide across Billy’s. Billy lets out a groan that goes straight to Steve’s dick, making it harden. Billy moves his hand up into Steve’s hair and pulls gently, turning Steve’s head so Billy can lick along Steve’s jaw and down his neck to suck at the point it meets Steve’s shoulder, biting at the tendon. Steve sighs, running his hand down Billy’s back and pulling desperately at Billy’s shirt so he can feel the warm skin of Billy’s back. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“This okay?” Steve whispers into Billy’s ear.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“This is perfect,” Billy replies, leaning in to kiss Steve again. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I just wanted to say,” Steve says, breathless, dragging his lips across Billy’s, “that I’ll look out for you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Huh,” Billy pulls back, confusion spreading across his face. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Earlier,” Steve says, “when I said that you’re looking out for me and asked who would look out for you. I’ll look out for you. We can look out for each other, okay?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Billy agrees, small smile touching the corner of his mouth, “we’ll look out for each other.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve runs downstairs to grab them both some food, he touches the tips of his fingers to his lips, they feel swollen from kissing. When he comes back up to his room, two plates loaded with a variety of snacks, Billy’s propped himself against Steve’s headboard and the dog has curled up at his feet.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Turn on the bedside lamps, will you?” Steve asks, closing the door with his hip. Billy complies and Steve passes him a plate. He sets his own the bedside table, flicks off the main light, and locks his door. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy starts to eat and then groans, shoulders slumping in defeated frustration.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What?” Steve asks, alarmed. Is Billy going to tell him this is a mistake?</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I left ten beers back at the junkyard,” Billy says, tone petulant. “Shit’s expensive.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve laughs, relieved. “I don’t think ten beers is worth your life. But we can go back there tomorrow, if you really want to, I doubt those things would’ve taken off with them.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“We’ll see,” Billy says with a shiver of possibly fear or revulsion, Steve isn’t sure which. Billy picks out some bits of meat and feeds them to the dog, who looks at Billy like he’s the only thing that matters in the whole world. And, at this instant, Steve is pretty sure his own expression isn’t much different.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve finishes eating first, putting his half-full plate on his desk, stomach still slightly queasy from the adrenaline and fear. He settles back next to Billy and leans into him. He relishes that he can actually do this now, touch Billy, be close to him. He turns and kisses Billy’s temple, because he can. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy laughs and sets his plate down on the bedside table.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So, the house is completely full,” Steve says, standing and stripping off his pants and shirt. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy’s eyes follow the movement, stopping at Steve’s crotch. Billy swallows and Steve tries to force down the self-consciousness. He’s just not used to have someone’s undivided attention on… him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right,” Billy says, finally dragging his eyes up to Steve’s face. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So,” Steve continues, pulling back the covers, “you should stay, uh, here, in my bed.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I should, should I?” Billy asks, pulling his own shirt off.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve nods. “But just for sleeping and maybe making out, I’m… uh, I’m not really ready for anything else.” He drops his gaze. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“That’s fine with me,” Billy agrees, “I’m beat.” He starts to slide his jeans over his hips and stops. “Uh,” he says, blushing, “you gotta any spare boxers or something? I didn’t really dress for sleeping with anyone.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve looks up and sees the tanned skin of Billy’s stomach that is bared further by the unzipped fly. Steve’s mouth goes dry as he sees the blonde curls that are exposed. “Right,” he says, “sure.” He gets up, rummages through one of his drawers and tosses Billy an old pair of basketball shorts. “These okay?” Steve asks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Billy says, pulling his jeans down, and Steve catches a glimpse of Billy’s slightly hardened dick and toned ass before he spins around. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve slides into bed and turns off his light. Billy gets in next to him and turns off the other light. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“How do you want to do this?” Steve asks, “it’s been a long time since I slept with someone.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Just get comfortable,” Billy whispers, “I’ll fit myself in around you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve flips onto his side, his back against Billy, and Billy does exactly what he said he would, he fits himself around Steve. Billy lies down so his chest is plastered to Steve’s back, puts his arm around Steve’s waist, and tucks his knees up under Steve’s. Billy splays his hand on Steve’s stomach and Steve can feel his breath on the back of Steve’s neck. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You good?” Steve whispers.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Billy responds and then kisses the back of Steve’s neck, “go to sleep, baby.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve shudders at the endearment, liking the way Billy’s voice makes the word almost into a growl. “Okay,” he breathes out, and shuts his eyes, letting himself be lulled off by Billy’s even breathing against his neck and steady heartbeat against his back.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve dreams and wakes up gasping, but he feels Billy behind him, solid and warm. Focusing on slowing his breathing to match Billy’s, Steve’s able to relax enough to drift off again.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve wakes up to the phone ringing. He groans, looking at the time, just after eight in the morning. Sunlight is peaking its way through Steve’s curtains, but it’s not fully bright out. He fumbles for the phone and lets out a “Fuck,” when he manages to drop the receiver on the floor. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What’s going on?” Billy mumbles. He’s in the same place he was when they fell asleep last night, still pressed against Steve. Steve forgot how much heat two mostly naked people made when they share a bed and is not surprised that he’s sweating.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I dunno,” Steve mutters, leaning over to pick up the phone off the floor. Billy tightens his grip around Steve, which sends a little thrill through him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>From the phone, Steve can barely make out Dustin’s voice yelling, “Steve! Steve! Are you there? Pick up, Steve! Steve!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Dustin, stop,” Steve says, forcing a calming breath out through his nose, when he’s got the phone pressed to his ear.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh, thank god,” Dustin says, just as shrilly, “you’re there. Okay. I need you to come to my house and bring your bat.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“What?” Steve asks, sitting up and pulling the covers off Billy. Billy makes a noise of protest, but also sits up, and pets the dog on the head. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The dog watches both of them without lifting its head off its paws as if to say <em>shut the fuck up and let me sleep</em>. And Steve could not agree more with that sentiment.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Your bat, Steve, the one with the nails, get the bat, and get to my house, stat. We have a code red here,” Dustin’s saying, voice tinny over the line.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“A code red?” Steve repeats, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He can’t remember what the fuck a code red is, probably something bad, given Dustin’s level of shrillness.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yes!” Dustin snaps, “a code red! Dart ate my cat, Steve, he ate Mews!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wait, who’s Dart?” Steve asks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>At the same time, Billy asks, “You named your cat Mews?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wait,” another voice says, it sounds very much like a girl’s voice and Steve has no idea who the girl is. “Billy, is that you?” the girl asks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve sighs and puts the phone between the two of them mouthing ‘sorry’. But Billy isn’t paying attention, his eyebrows come together in confusion, and he grabs the phone from Steve.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Max?” Billy asks, “is that you? What the fuck is going on?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve can’t hear Max’s side of the conversation; she’s not talking as loud as Dustin. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Right, okay,” Billy’s saying, and then he lets out a surprised laugh, “you’d be surprised, Max, I learned a few things last night.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve gets out of bed and throws on the clothes he wore the night before. He hears Billy say, “Uh-huh, yeah, we’ll be there, give us…” he trails off and looks at Steve. “How long to get to that kid’s — Dustin’s — house?” he asks.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Ten minutes,” Steve replies, “unless we’re stopped by my relatives.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy nods and says into the phone, “We’ll be there in half an hour.” Then he adds, “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” He leans over and hangs up the phone. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Apparently,” he says to Steve, getting out bed, stripping off the shorts — Steve isn’t fast enough to avert his eyes, and, yeah, Billy has a really nice looking dick — and pulling on his jeans, “those kids have lost something that used to be a tadpole and has transformed into some kind of lizard dog thing. Sound familiar?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Holy shit,” Steve breathes out. Then he adds, “I can’t believe this shit is happening again. And, sorry, did they somehow rope Max into this?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yep,” Billy says, pulling on his shirt and grabbing his jacket off the floor. “C’mon, Harrington, we gotta be responsible adults for a bunch shrieking kids.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“That sounds about right,” Steve mutters, secretly glad that Billy’s there to share some of the burden.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“C’mon,” Billy says to the dog, who gets off the bed, tail not quite wagging, as if he really doesn’t want to go, but doesn’t want to be left behind. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You think of a name yet?” Steve asks, as he shoves his arm into his coat sleeve. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Not yet, was thinking I’d ask Max, see if she has any thoughts,” Billy replies, biting his lip, as if he was nervous at the thought. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve remembers what he overheard Billy saying on that Wednesday night and thinks that Billy might be doing more than just asking Max’s opinion about the dog’s name. “Good plan,” Steve says, wrapping his hand around the back of Billy’s neck and pulling him in for a quick kiss. “I’m sure she’d really like that,” Steve adds, after they’ve pulled away from each other. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy nods. “Okay,” he says, “don’t do anything stupid, remember, we’re supposed to look out for each other.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <b>vii. i’ll hold the ladder, you place the star</b>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The dog starts following him on Wednesday.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>It’s the first time Billy’s gotten to see him in a week and the dog doesn’t want to let Billy out of his sight. Billy’s carrying boxes of Christmas decorations from the basement and the dog plods down and up every single step after him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Danny’s gonna end up tripping you,” Steve says, as Billy hands him the last box. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I know,” Billy mutters, “I shouldn’t’ve let you talk me into helping decorate your stupid tree.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve sets the box down and opens it up, it’s full of glass baubles and garlands. “If I recall,” he says, carefully pulling out one of the silvery garlands, trying not to snag it on the ornament hooks, “you were the one who suggested it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy doesn’t say anything, just squats in front of another box and opens it up. Lights, strings upon strings of lights. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You said,” Steve continues, “something about making me more comfortable around the lights.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Billy replies, looking at Steve, “and I meant it.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve smiles, it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. He sets the garland down and crouches next to Billy. Billy sees his mouth turn down as he appraises the lights. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“So, what are you feeling?” Billy asks, “multicoloured or clear?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out as a long sigh. Billy rubs a hand along Steve’s shoulder, fingers catching on the soft weave of Steve’s green sweater. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Not looking at him, Steve says, “I think the clear ones.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Clear it is,” Billy says, grabbing the first string and standing up. “I don’t know why you need so many— Hey! Danny!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Danny looks up at him, guilty expression in his eyes, as he slowly drops the garland, leaving a slobbery mess on the floor. Billy lets out a longsuffering sigh. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve laughs. “I still can’t believe you named your dog Danny,” he says, picking up the garland and shaking it out with a grimace.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I didn’t name him; how many times do I—” Billy cuts himself off with a sigh. “Max named him, okay? I shouldn’t’ve taken her to see that movie.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve snorts and grabs the string of lights from Billy. He stands on a chair and starts winding it around the tree. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Don’t laugh,” Billy mutters, picking up the next string of lights and plugging it into the end of the first one, “she’s gonna ask Susan for karate lessons. Part of me hopes she’ll get them and get good enough so that she can…” he trails off, not sure if he wants to say what he’s thinking and ruin this nice domestic moment. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Kick Neil in the balls?” Steve finishes for him, getting down and moving the chair to the other side of the tree. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, sounds about right,” Billy says. After a minute, he adds, “I don’t get why you waited so long to decorate; Christmas is in a week.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“With my parents gone, it didn’t like such a huge priority. Wasn’t worried about coming down one morning and seeing that my mom’s put up the tree in an alcohol-induced haze, trying to force Christmas spirit on us or something.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts. “So why do it at all?” he asks, as Steve finishes putting on the lights. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I dunno. I thought it might be nice for you,” Steve replies, gesturing for Billy to pass him the garland. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Handing him the slobbery end, Billy says, “For me? How so?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I just assumed you didn’t have a good time at Christmas. Y’know, being forced to hang around with Neil.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah. That part sucks,” Billy agrees, “but at least Max won’t be angry with me this year.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve jumps down from the chair and Billy meets his eyes. Steve leans in and gives Billy a soft kiss. Billy smiles into the kiss, appreciating that they can do this now. Or at least they can do this in the privacy of Steve’s house or the Camaro or in the middle of the woods or at the junkyard — which they often go to when Billy’s stinging from one of Neil’s ‘talks’ or Steve’s skin is itching from his dad’s latest beratement.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve pulls back. “You explained and apologized, and she understood?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy lets out a weak chuckle. “Apparently she’d known about him for a little while. She said, and I quote, ‘I need to work on my fucking subtlety.’”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Good advice,” Steve murmurs, leaning in again to press his lips against Billy’s.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Billy agrees, when Steve steps back. Danny bumps into Billy’s side and gives him a plaintive whine. Billy scratches his ears, enjoying just feeling the soft fur, as he watches Steve hang more garland on the tree. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You seem to be growing on Dustin,” Steve says, out of nowhere. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy meets his gaze and nods. “I don’t wanna do anything that’ll jeopardize this,” he says, gesturing between him and Danny with the hand that’s not petting the dog’s ears. “It’s super nice of him and Mrs. Henderson to keep Danny for me, y’know?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve nods and grins. “I know that Mrs. Henderson was really missing Mews, so at least Danny’s a distraction for her. And,” he adds, “she likes you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy snorts. “It’s a Christmas miracle,” he mutters, sarcasm lacing his tone. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve steps back and tugs Billy towards him, wrapping Billy in a hug. “You know,” Steve whispers into Billy’s ear, his lips brushing the edge, “you’re not a bad person. Everyone needs some help sometimes, right? That’s what you keep telling me — I mean, you’re the only reason I’m passing math—”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’m not the <em>only</em> reason,” Billy interjects. He shivers slightly, enjoying the feeling of Steve’s warmth and his breath on Billy’s ear. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve holds him tighter. “You’re the main reason,” he acquiesces, “and Dustin offered. He could tell how much Danny means to you, so, just let them help, okay?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy sighs and buries his face into Steve’s neck, breathing in the scent of him combined with the fresh pine aroma of the tree. “Okay.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve runs his hand up Billy’s back. “Okay,” he agrees, “and then, when June come’s we — you’re — out of here, with Danny.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy jerks back, meeting Steve’s eyes, they’re a little wide, as if he’s shocked. “You just said, ‘we’,” he says, voice edged with surprise.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Steve licks his lips and nods. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Does that mean you want to leave with me?” Billy asks, a little breathless, as fear works its way up from his stomach.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “I mean, if that’s an option, and if we both still feel the same way…? If you want me to.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Billy leans in and kisses him. “I want you to.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated!</p><p>I took inspiration from <em>Sex Education</em> for the ‘destroying stuff in a junkyard as a way to get out some aggression’ bit (which just seems so cathartic). I also took inspiration from <em>Good Omens</em> for Billy referring to the dog as ‘dog’ (although, unlike Adam Young, Billy didn’t end up naming his dog Dog). Finally, in case it wasn’t obvious, the movie Max and Billy see is <em>The Karate Kid</em> (which came out in June of 1984 and I’m just saying it was still in theatres in November…), and Max names the dog Danny after Daniel LaRusso. Billy doesn’t get the appeal of Ralph Macchio (he thinks he looks like he’s twelve).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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